


Occam's Razor

by ambooradley



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Brief mention of underage prostitute Dean, Eventual Smut, Fate & Destiny, First Time, Grace Bonds, John Winchester doesn’t always suck, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, Pining, Slow Burn, So many twists and turns, Soul Bond, Time Travel, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Unreliable Narrator, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-05-25 04:07:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 45,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14968754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambooradley/pseuds/ambooradley
Summary: Dean has schizophrenia, or, at least, that's what everyone has told him. He knows something is wrong or else something fantastical is going on. He can't tell what's real and what isn't because what seems real to him is so out of the ordinary that there's just no way it can be real.Enter Castiel—he's either an angel like he claims needing Dean for a mission that he might not come back from, or he's the really hot manic depressed dude who calls himself Jimmy that just happens to have his scheduled psych appointments at the same time as Dean.Haunted by the terrible death of his mother and an image of a man with yellow eyes that just won't leave him, Dean is about to find out that sometimes the craziest explanation is the best explanation after all.And that love is the best medicine.





	1. Chapter 1

We get a million lives to lead, but we hardly remember them all. Castiel has tried to change just one life again and again and again. He's changed it so much that he hardly recognizes the person he has become.

Where his soul was once the brightest light he's ever seen, it's dimmed. It's because of sadness, disease. The lack of Castiel in his outward life.

Dean remembers pieces. Passion. Love. A feeling of safety he hasn't felt since. He remembers a hand gripping his shoulder. He remembers a kiss that set his soul on fire. He remembers the most important parts, but not enough to put together the whole puzzle.

Castiel is trying to change that, but there is always something that gets in the way.

*

Dean knew something was wrong. I mean, how could he not? It was his mind. But that didn't mean everyone had to know. Not his dad and definitely not Sam, his younger, much smarter brother.

No, no one needed to know that Dean was losing it. It was bad enough he'd dropped out of high school. His dad was already disappointed. If he told him he couldn't keep what was real from what wasn't, he'd definitely freak out on him. Maybe even stop him from seeing Sammy altogether.

He's done his research, and yeah, something is probably wrong, but he's not really sick. Your brain can't really be sick. He already knows what his dad would say—"suck it up, son. Deal with it. It's not like you broke your leg." Which is ridiculous, because even if he had broken his leg, John would basically say the same thing. Suck it up.

Dean rolls over in his bed. It's late afternoon. Sam is due home in a few minutes, and Dean's been up for hours. He swings from not being able to sleep for days on end to sleeping for days straight. Right now he's in a can't sleep stage. It doesn't help what he's hearing...or not hearing. He really doesn't know. The past couple of days it's been mostly screeching noises, which is new. Normally he hears whispering. He only catches a few things— "chosen," "righteous man," "soldier of God." None of it makes sense. He's never been religious, although his mom did use to say that angels were watching over him. 

Fat lot of good that did him. Or her.

Yeah, he's another kid who lost his mom. He sighs in bed and closes his eyes. This is not the route he wants to go down, but he's long since given up on trying to force his brain to listen to him.

He hardly remembers that night, except what he knows can't be real. It's the most annoying thing that the worst moment in his life has been superimposed with images that have no logical explanation, when really he knows it was just a fire, and it was really just a tragic accident that he and Sam and John survived and Mary didn't. He knows this, or feels like he should know it, but it's getting harder and harder to know that for sure. What he does feel like he knows for sure, has always known for sure, even when he could control his brain, is that he saw his mother on the ceiling in Sam's nursery, blood spilling from her in rivulets down her white nightgown, and a man with yellow eyes turn and look at him before John scooped him and Sam up and Mary burst into flames.

John has never said anything about that night. Ever. They do not talk about Mary, and Dean's always been too afraid to ask if he saw the man, too. The one time he did bring up her death, when Dean was about 10 and in yet another motel somewhere in Kansas (John never wanted to be home but could never stray too far), he simply asked if John remembered what had happened that night, why Dean was already holding Sam when he saw Mary burn and he doesn't remember getting him or his father placing him in his arms—John had stood up with the bottle of whiskey in his hands and had slapped him so hard across his cheek that it had split.

He sighs. It's been going on like this for days. Dean can't get his brain to turn it off, even though it's the one thing he wishes he could forget. That single event is probably the reason why everything's been so messed up for the past year. When he was younger, he could stop himself from remembering. Shut everything down and drink it away or will his brain to shut off. Even something as simple as remembering he needed to feed Sammy could change his thoughts.

Now, he hears the door open and close and knows Sam is home. He knows he should be doing something for him—making him a snack or simply asking him how his day was. Anything to be the good older brother he's always been. But he simply can't will himself out of bed. Sam knows he's awake because he's been awake for days, tossing in the double bed they've shared basically their whole lives since the fire, in yet another shitty motel in another shitty Kansas town with a school that isn't good enough for Sam.

Dean once had ambitions. He was going to work as hard as he could in whatever job he could find—most recently a mechanic down at Singer Salvage Yard—to get Sam out and into whatever college he wanted to go to. Get him away from their dad and his drinking and on to something that he was always meant for. Away from Dean, even, and his neuroses.

Even the strongest desire to love and protect Sam, the one thing that kept him going for years through his dad's drunken rage and subsequent fists, is not enough anymore to get him out of bed. He's simply numb. He doesn't feel. And when he does feel, it's mostly anxiety that he's being watched or annoyance that the screeching and whispering are back or crippling fear that if he rolls over and looks up at the ceiling, he'll feel the heat of his mother's burning body over him.

So he stays firmly in bed, the covers pulled up around him, eyes shut tightly, and listens to Sam zip open his backpack and start on his homework.

He tries to think of anything other than Mary burning on the ceiling, or yellow eyes, or how heavy the weight of his little brother has felt all these years. And fails.

*

Sam glances over at the bed he shares with Dean right now and sighs. Dean's in bed again. _Still._ He doesn't even bother saying hi to him. He just shuts the door and starts unloading his books from his backpack on the little motel desk. Dean doesn't move, but Sam knows he's awake. He can lay like that for hours, completely catatonic. Sam wishes he could hear what he's thinking. Help him in some way, but all he can do is make sure he aces every assignment that comes his way. Dean had always stressed the importance of school, way before he turned into the complete mess he is now, and even when he started getting bad he still made sure Sam got all his homework done.

It's only been a few months since he's been like this, but he started noticing how weird Dean was acting about a year ago. It started slowly—Dean losing track of a thought in the middle of saying it, not being able to understand what Sam was saying about a simple topic, getting out of bed later and later. He used to love his job as a mechanic. He was good at taking things apart and putting them back together. He was even good at school when he went. It might not have been his favorite thing, but everything came easy to him and Sam just chocked his poor grades up to being bored.

He dropped out last year, a few months into his senior year. He hadn't been going regularly anyway, had been a total of 9 weeks the second semester of his junior year. He barely passed, and it was mostly due to the fact that John moved them again and started a new school that he did. Sam's not sure what's going on with him. Depression maybe. Dean's always been the type to carry too much weight on his shoulders, and Sam has felt that guilt so deeply since he started getting sick. If only he worked a little harder, got better grades, helped around the motel or got a job or made John stop drinking.

He feels helpless. Dean is 19 and should be living his best life. Instead he's comatose in bed day after day or pacing all night and talking to himself.

He's heard him whispering to himself on the nights he can't sleep—clutching his head and bent over like he's in pain. It scares Sam, just 15 and so used to counting on his big brother to make everything ok. How can he do that when he's the one not ok?

Sam finishes his math homework and looks over at Dean again. He probably hasn't eaten or had anything to drink since Sam left this morning. John's been gone a few days, so Sam is the only one taking care of him. Not that John ever takes care of him anyway. He shows up and leaves cash from whatever odd job he's worked and then takes off again.

He sighs and pushes up from the desk. The little mini fridge has a bottle of water and an apple in it, but Sam knows Dean won't eat it. He uncaps the bottle and sits next to Dean. His brother's green, hollow eyes open at the feeling of the bed sinking, and Sam coaxes him to sit up so he can take a sip of the water.

Sam watches Dean close his chapped lips around the bottle and take a slow drink. He does it like it hurts, like the only reason in the world he would ever have water again is because his little brother is handing it to him.

Sam replaces the cap and looks at Dean. "How are you feeling today? Did you sleep at all?"

Dean shakes his head no. He looks down, eyes closed, and then whips his head around to the other side of the room. He grips Sam's wrist, hard, and stares at nothing in the corner.

"Did you see that?" he whispers.

Sam tries, he really does, but there is no way to rationalize his brother's thinking. There's nothing there. "What did you see?"

Dean turns back to him, eyes wide, and loosens his grip. "Nothing. It was nothing." He looks haunted, and Sam can't remember a time when he hasn't looked like this in the past year. It scares him, and maybe this is finally the moment when he knows he can’t be the person to fix him.

*

Dean sits back, resting his head on the thin pillow and looks at his brother. His mop of hair, his skinny frame. For a second, he can feel something akin to love shoot through him. Something he very rarely feels now, since he started hearing the whispering a few months ago. Since he started feeling like he was being followed. Since he started waking up to the image of a man in a tie and trench coat standing watch at the foot of his bed, his light blue eyes earnest, like he was willing Dean to remember eons of information or to warn him or something.

But this is the first time the man has appeared in day light with someone else awake, and Dean knows for sure now, without a doubt, that something is very wrong with him.

"Sam," he says, turning to look into the frightened eyes of his brother, "I think I need help."

*

From his hidden spot in the corner, Castiel looks at Dean Winchester holding Sam Winchester like his life depends on it. In a way, it does. They are entwined, the two brothers. They are destined for so much more than either of them could ever possibly understand, and that is why he, an angel of the Lord, has rebelled and risked everything to manifest himself in front of Dean.

He just wishes Dean could remember.

He hears Zachariah as soon as he thinks it. He needs to be more careful. 

_”I will give you one month, Castiel. After that, Dean Winchester must be ready.”_

Castiel looks at Dean. The man stares at him, even though he knows there’s no way he can see him. His green eyes glint and for a moment, Castiel swears Dean is looking right into him. He’s always been good at that.

His wings vibrate. A need he’s never been able to hide.

Dean can’t hear him, but he whispers, “I’m sorry” anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

The story has been set into motion years and years and years and centuries ago. Castiel knows. He's been watching for a long time. He's seen Heaven move everything to unite two people. He's seen Mary and John converge and her terrible end. He's watched Sam and Dean grow up.

Dean.

He's certain that angels were not meant to feel this way. His Father created them to protect humanity, sure, but not to fall for a human. He's learned enough to understand that's what this is.

He's become human enough to understand that's what this is.

It started innocently enough—he heard what his Father wanted with Mary and John. Heard of the humans' impending doom and the savior in their oldest child. He was curious, a gifted battle tactician winning the war with demons and bored because of it. His Father had asked him to keep an eye on the child, certain of his future but worried all the same—omnipotence is pesky like that—and Castiel had said yes immediately, drawn to him in a way he could not fully understand.

He still doesn't understand.

The first time he went to him, he was still in the womb. He entered Mary's mind while she slept, cuddled next to John with a small hand on her swollen belly. He saw the child and knew that he'd do anything to protect him. He watched as his eyes formed, amazed that every molecule came together so seamlessly to create such an important person. A future so prodigious that he had his own personal guardian angel.

Maybe Castiel was gone even then.

He stayed close after that. He watched Mary and John form a life together, build their home, create something that Castiel held so dearly to him he could not stop the vibration of his wings even when he was back in Heaven. A constant hum, a rising need for protection, yes, but also because it soothed Dean.

He knew about Mary's secrecy, and he knew where this was all leading, but he did not expect to fall so deeply, or to be pushed out of Heaven, or for his Father to disappear when everything was finally coming to fruition.

He rebelled. How could he not? When Dean was just two months old, he held Castiel's finger hard, unafraid of his true face, big eyes bright and curious as Mary slept beside him. He said his name for the first time when he was barely a year old, a small rendition, a gushed "Cas" because he couldn't form it all, like the word had been there all along even though Castiel knows he never once told him his name. When he was three, he started drawing the pictures of Castiel, a rough shape but with a brightness around his head. Mary did not throw them away.

And when he was four, Castiel stood beside him, invisible as he felt the demon enter the Winchester home, and gently shook Dean awake. He smoothed his face with the feathers of his wings like Dean liked. He held him while it happened, and only when Dean finally heard the screams of his mother did he run with him and gently place Sam in his arms, the demon preoccupied with taking Mary.

He's been there every step of the way, and he refuses to let it end like this.

He knows that there must be a reason for Dean's illness, perhaps a way to cover up the fact that the supernatural exists, but it pains him to see Dean so distraught when he could just place a finger to his forehead and heal him.

It was a slow descent into madness, and Castiel knows he did not help. He thought he'd bring some peace, but it seems that he has become just a hallucination to Dean, caught up in the narrative of his delusions. He feels that someone is watching him because someone is. He feels that his mind is being read because it is, but he does have some real illness that manifests itself to the outside world and keeps everyone, Dean himself included, in the dark about what's really going on.

It's genius, really. No one will ever be the wiser. And that's why Castiel had to rebel.

The other angels have been gearing up for this fight their whole existence. The apocalypse sounds so drastic, when really their lives won't change too much. The humans matter, of course, but when their Father left, so many of his brothers lost their way and were only focused on winning the war that it did not concern them that the humans wouldn't make it out alive. Certainly not one human meant to be a vessel. Certainly not the one human who could save them all, whose whole purpose was to be absorbed.

When Dean was 10, after that fight with John, Castiel had sat on his bed and watched the child ice his cheek. His wings were vibrating so hard that there was a breeze, even though Castiel was invisible. He felt Dean tense and then relax, his heart hammering a beat or two faster.

"I know you're here, Cas," he said. "I can feel you."

Castiel held his metaphorical breath, willing his wings to be still. He knew he shouldn't—he'd been keeping his distance for a while, trying to deny the feelings that were already inevitable—but he reached a wing out and stroked lightly across the same split cheek, watching as Dean's breath caught as he dropped the ice pack, leaning his face into the touch of feathers.

After that, he manifested himself more and more into human vessels. The shop teacher Dean liked his first year of high school, the mechanic who showed up just in the nick of time and seemingly from nowhere when he couldn't get the Impala to start the first time John let him borrow it, the pretty lifeguard at the pool where he worked for a week a few summers ago before they moved again. The same lifeguard he miraculously ran into at a party three towns over from where he'd met her previously right before he got sick.

Castiel will never forget that night. He'd been on Earth long enough to learn the important things, but it was becoming harder and harder to keep himself from Dean Winchester, and that party was the final straw.

He manifested himself in front of the girl, religious enough to allow Castiel to borrow her for just a night more. He knew the party would be a problem—Dean had just been busted by John smoking pot and sneaking a beer, and he'd been roughed up pretty badly by him. Dean had stormed out of the motel room before Castiel could comfort him, and he'd wound up at a party with people who were way too old for him, and he'd stayed anyway, intent on drinking until his ribs didn't ache.

So who could really blame Castiel? Dean didn't even question why a girl he'd met for seven days years ago just happened to be at a party miles away from the town she lived in. He'd just pulled her in and breathed, " _Cassie_ ," against Castiel's ear. And, yes, hearing him say the closest thing to his name did things to him that he didn't quite understand. His brothers were always warning him about how being on Earth made you lose touch with your angelic side.

The broad smile on his face when Castiel-Cassie-reached around Dean and pulled him in closer to him-her-was worth it. His wings vibrated with joy, and Dean felt the small breeze. He pulled back and looked at him like he knew, but instead he leaned in and grazed his lips against Castiel's, and Castiel is not proud of how his knees buckled in that moment.

He was gone, and he hasn't left Dean's side since. Even when Zachariah... well, Dean is haunted, but so is Castiel. He watched over him when the voices started. His brothers reaching out to get Dean accustomed to his inevitable purpose, telling him that he was meant for more than this, that he would end.

Castiel doesn't think that Heaven was expecting this reaction from Dean—that he'd roll over and quite literally play dead. He's barely gotten out of bed in a month. He won't eat unless Sam forces him. He had to quit his beloved job at Bobby Singer's because he's so depressed, and worst of all, Castiel knows that Dean being unable to care for Sam is killing him more than any illness ever could.

He wishes he could tell his brothers to stop, that Dean is just not ready for this, but he can't. He’s tried, and they won’t listen. And so he's warning Dean instead, speaking to him in the language of angels, trying to make him understand that he needs to leave. He doesn't yet know that John is gone. The boys are still miraculously ignorant about John's involvement in the supernatural, and John is still miraculously ignorant about Castiel.

When he was little, Dean could hear him clear as a bell. Now, Castiel's not so sure. He hasn't been sleeping, and he puts his hands over his ears when Castiel speaks like it hurts, and so he doesn't speak—he traces his feathers on Dean's face until the man's breathing evens out, and he uses his new vessel to try to get through to him.

But it's not working. He thought showing him Jimmy Novak would soothe him. Dean used to love the way his grace glowed blue, and he thought the vessel’s blue eyes would help show him the truth. Instead it has driven Dean to admit to Sam something is wrong.

And that's how Castiel finds himself in a psychiatrist's office several weeks later, waiting for the moment that Dean opens the door and Castiel can finally tell him the truth.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean is breathing hard and trying not to show it. Admittedly, he does feel better. He's been officially diagnosed for about a month, and the shock of knowing something is really wrong has started to wear off. The medicine probably helps, too.

He hasn't seen the man in the trench coat since the afternoon he told Sam something was wrong. The next morning, he dragged himself out of bed and went to the hospital. It was surprisingly easy for someone to tell him what was wrong. A few questions about how he's been feeling on a short form: **Over the past two weeks how often have you been bothered by any of the following: 1) little interest or pleasure in doing things, 2) feeling down, depressed, or hopeless, 3) trouble falling asleep or sleeping too much, 4) poor appetite or over eating, 5) feeling that you are a failure or letting your family down, 6) moving or speaking so slowly that other people have noticed.** Dean checked _nearly every day_ for all of them. And then he got to the kicker: **Have you been hearing voices or seeing things that others don't?** and he couldn't breathe.

The doctor at the hospital had asked him if he would like to be admitted to the psych ward. He was kind, at least, but that was the moment he knew there was no coming back from this.

Since he didn't have anyone with him (John was still gone, and since Dean was too preoccupied with the decline of his brain, he hadn't had time to worry), the doctor lead him into his office and folded his hands on top of the desk.

"Mr. Winchester, it looks as if you have been dealing with this for a while now. When did you first notice symptoms?"

Dean looked at the guy, white hair and tanned face. He looked like the type of guy you see on the golf course on the weekend. He swallowed. "I started not being able to talk well about a year ago. Couldn't keep track of what I was going to say. Just stopped in the middle of a sentence." It was hard to talk then. He'd barely said more than a few sentences at a time to Sam over the past month before he went to the hospital, and he’d only mustered up the strength to get out of bed and talk to his dad with one word answers the smatterings of days he was around.

"When did you first start noticing that you were losing interest in things you used to enjoy?" The doctor pulled a pen out of a neat cup on his table and started writing things down. Dean found himself shifting forward to see what it said, but looked back up at the doctor when the pen paused on the paper.

"A few months after. And then I started not sleeping, or staying in bed for days. It really just depended."

The doctor nodded and scribbled something else. "When did you first start hearing voices?"

Dean opened his mouth to speak, and then snapped it shut. He swallowed again, his tongue dry and thick in his mouth. "Honestly, I wonder if I've always been hearing them."

The doctor put his pen down and looked at Dean. "Can you explain more?"

Dean has replayed this part of the conversation every day since. It was a small thing, memories he's tried to forget or reasoned away as just being a kid. But since he started getting sick, he's almost certain that mostly forgotten creature has something to do with what's going on now. Almost.

"I had this imaginary friend when I was little. And now I'm not sure if he was imaginary. I mean, I know he must be because he didn't look human. And he used to talk to me, especially when I was upset. It just feels like he never really went away. I used to think I saw him everywhere, in normal people. The other voices, not his voice, started a few months ago."

"It's highly unlikely that your imaginary friend has anything to do with what's happening now." The doctor didn't even look up from what he was writing on the paper, effectively relieving and terrifying Dean with just one sentence. The thing he vaguely remembered as a kid pushed completely to the side for the moment, which just served to barely pacify Dean. "What are these voices saying to you now?" The pen moved again, and Dean slumped back in his seat and closed his eyes.

"They say that I'm chosen. That I'm some sort of sword. Or a solider. That I have a purpose." He opened his eyes and looked at the doctor. "I know it sounds crazy. I know it must be crazy, but it's getting so hard to tell what I'm really hearing and what I'm just imagining. How do I get it to stop?"

The doctor's lips perked up in a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I think it's a very good thing that you recognized something was wrong, Mr. Winchester. It's rare that someone with your condition does. They often wait until they have an episode and then a loved one brings them in against their will. I would say it's downright unheard of for someone like you to come in for yourself."

"My condition? What does that mean?" Dean wrung his hands together, fingering the knuckle on his thumb until it hurt.

"Mr. Winchester, I believe you have schizophrenia. Your symptoms are early, meaning you have a while until your delusions and hallucinations manifest themselves completely, but without running more tests, this is the best conclusion I can come to."

Dean stared at the man, thumb aching and heart pumping. "You sure? This can't just be depression or some shit like that?"

"You have depressive tendencies, yes, but you are also experiencing hallucinations—voices telling you that you are important. You feel like you are being watched, that someone is reading your thoughts. That is textbook schizophrenia." The doctor paused. "I'm sorry."

Dean nodded. "So what can I do?" He felt a softness run down his cheek, a feathery coolness that he's often felt in the moments he's most upset, and stilled himself from twitching into it. Probably just another hallucination.

"I'm going to recommend you start with an anti-psychotic immediately. I'll write you a prescription for Chlorpromazine. You can start taking it tomorrow with breakfast. Since you have a relatively mild case so far and have not exhibited any signs of harming yourself or others, I'm going to start you on a low dose. Take it twice daily." He wrote something out and handed it to Dean. "You can get it filled here. And then I'm also going to recommend seeing a psychiatrist so that he or she can monitor how your medication is affecting you." He handed Dean a list of people with initials after their name. Dean looked at it, and then at the doctor. He could still feel the feathers running over his cheek. He wondered if that small semblance of comfort would disappear as soon as he started the medication.

"Thank you, doc."

And now Dean is standing at the psychiatrist's office, the name Jody Mills in bold on the door. He made this appointment three times and cancelled each of them until Sam threatened to skip school to make sure he got here. Looks like the fourth time is the charm.

The door is surprisingly light when he opens it. Small, bland waiting room. The chairs are brown leather, slightly peeling in some spots on the seats. Exactly the type of place he'd expect to have his head shrunk. He does a once over, taking in a deep breath. He pauses at the reception desk and continues eyeing the place. A self-help poster from what looks like the 80's hangs on the wall. _Hang in there_ and he swears to God that there's a kitten holding on to a rope.

Of course.

Stifling a groan, Dean turns to the desk. He's numb again. The medicine has been helping him keep track of his thoughts and even seemingly preventing hallucinations-he hasn't heard anything in days-but being in this place has kicked on all his worst fears about himself. And in true Winchester fashion, he'd rather push everything down and just ignore it.

He fills out all the paperwork and, even though he's the only one sitting in the waiting room, waits. And waits. And _waits._ Seriously, what could Dr. Mills be up to?

He jostles his knee to help pass the time. He hadn't brought a book, certain he couldn't concentrate anyway, and now he wishes he had. He'd been reading _Breakfast of Champions_ a few months ago, but it had hit too close to home and he'd had to stop. He's rehearsing what he's going to say to Dr. Mills, trying to figure out if the good doctor is a he or she, when he feels eyes on him.

He turns to look, and where there was no one beside him what felt like only a few seconds ago, now there is a fully grown man, slightly older than him, staring at him with wide, unblinking blue eyes.

Dean starts. Blue Eyes keeps looking at him. He must really be losing it.

He shifts, turning his body away from him while surreptitiously looking at the reception desk. The nurse is still firmly typing away, and she is still patently ignoring Dean. How long has he been sitting here?

Dean feels his heart start to pick up pace the longer the man stares at him. Why hasn't he moved seats? Why did he have to sit down right next to him? What is taking Dr. Mills so long?

Just when he can't take it anymore and starts to shift to look at the man and tell him where to stick it, he speaks.

"Hello." Deep, gravelly voice, smile plastered on his face. He doesn't take his eyes off Dean even as Dean frowns his disapproval.

"Hi," Dean grunts out. He looks the man over. Disheveled hair, three lines on his forehead where he's pulling his eyebrows together in concern, even as he smiles. He looks familiar somehow, though Dean knows there's no way he could know this crazy man sitting so close to him in an empty psychiatrist's waiting room. He hopes the gruff greeting will get the point across. Instead it draws the man impossibly closer.

"Is this your first time here?" He doesn't wait for a response. "I find that waiting rooms are fascinating. There's so much you can do while you wait. So much you can learn from whom you wait with. For example, I have learned that you are not patient. And that you're nervous, but you're trying to hide it. Did someone force you to attend today?" This time he does wait, earnest eyes turned to Dean and that smile widened.

Dean licks his lips and watches as the man's eyes flick down to them and quickly back up. "Dude, I don't know what you've got going on, but I'm not in the mood for chit chat."

"Isn't this the exact place you go to for chit chat?"

Well. He has him there. Dean huffs out a breath. "I'm not in the mood for chit chat with someone I'm not paying." As he gets up to leave, the man sticks out a hand.

"I'm Jimmy Novak. It's a pleasure to meet you."

It would be so easy to ignore him. Push past the outstretched hand and walk away and demand he speak to Dr. Mills now, but as he's opening his mouth to tell the guy to fuck off, he feels the tickling on his cheek for the first time in weeks. He slowly sinks back into the seat where he'd risen halfway out of it.

Blue Eyes—Jimmy—looks impossibly happier, mouth upturned and eyes crinkling.

"I'm Dean." He takes the man's hand and feels a small breeze, the soothing tickling on his cheek pressing harder into him as their touch lingers. Just as Dean is about to open his mouth to ask if he knows him, a nurse opens the door by reception and calls his name.

Spell broken, Dean gets up and follows her back. Right before the door closes, he turns and sees Jimmy still staring at him, eyebrows pressed together in worry but with that goofy smile still on his face.

*

Dr. Mills turns out a be a woman. A no nonsense woman. Dean likes her immediately, even though he wishes he didn't. Her short, dark hair keeps falling in her eyes, and Dean finds it endearing.

As he gets settled on the chair (no couch for him to cry on, thank God) across from her, she pulls out a small folder with a few pieces of paper in it.

"Dean, the doctor you saw a few weeks ago sent me this information about you. I just want you to know what's in here so that you understand what I do and do not know about you. Today is a get to know you session of sorts." She hands him the top paper, his "in the past two weeks have you" form. Dean looks at the paper, already so old to him. "I want to start by going over this again. See what good the medicine has done so far or if we need to consider a change in action."

"You can do that?" he interrupts.

She smiles. "Of course. You're not just here to tell me about yourself. I'm here to make sure that you're on the right medication. That you're doing ok. I can change anything at any time if you feel it's not helping you."

Dean offers a small smile in return.

"Ok, so the first thing I want to do is go over this paper." She gestures to the one Dean is holding. "When you went to the hospital about a month ago you checked every day for all of the questions. Let's go through and see if anything has changed. So just in the past two weeks, how often have you been bothered by having little or no interest or pleasure in things?"

Dean thinks. "More than half of the days"

Dr. Mills nods. "What about feeling down, depressed, or hopeless?"

"Several days."

"Trouble falling asleep or sleeping too much?"

"Several days." He's actually been sleeping better. No voices to keep him up at night.

"Poor appetite or over eating?"

"Several days." He's gotten better at eating, but he's still been somewhat preoccupied and forgets to eat on occasion.

"Feeling that you are a failure or are letting your family down?"

Dean swallows. "Every day." He doubts even the healthiest version of himself wouldn't feel like a failure.

"Moving or speaking awkwardly so that others notice?"

"Not at all."

"Good.” She reaches for the paper and puts it back in the folder, along with a new one that she filled out as Dean was talking. "I can tell there's already been some improvement." She pulls out another paper and this time doesn't hand it to Dean.

"These are the notes from your doctor. Preliminary findings and diagnoses. I don't have cause to disagree with him, but I would like to hear more about your delusions and hallucinations in your own words. What have you been hearing?" She puts the paper back in the folder and reaches behind her to drop it on her desk. All of her attention is now on Dean.

"I hear a few different voices. It depends on the day if I only hear one of them or a lot of them. It started with just one. It kept telling me that I was chosen, that I was going to have to fight for something. And then more of them came. They said I was a sword, that I was a soldier for God. That I was the only hope. That when the time came, I'd have to say yes."

"Do you know what you'll have to say yes to?"

Dean shakes his head no. "They haven't told me. It's just something they keep saying."

"Dean, do you believe that you are chosen for whatever thing these voices are telling you? That you're a soldier of God?"

He laughs. "Of course not. I'm nobody. I'm a high school drop out who can't even keep a job. Why would anyone want me to be a soldier for anything? Why would I ever be chosen?"

Dr. Mills looks at him. "Interesting."

"What? What's interesting?"

"It's just not often that schizophrenics recognize their delusion. Usually they have a hallucination and write their narrative around it. They believe wholeheartedly that whatever they are hearing is true, and no amount of evidence to the contrary can convince them otherwise. It's just odd that you can hear these voices and not believe what they are telling you."

"So what does that mean? I'm not a schizophrenic?" Dean doesn't let himself get his hopes up. He doesn't.

Dr. Mills frowns. "You have all the symptoms of a schizophrenic. You just have a way to handle your delusions better than most. Have you heard anything else aside from these voices?"

"Some screeching, but that's relatively new."

She jots something down in a small notebook. "Screeching. That's different from your voices. What does this sound like?"

"High pitched ringing. It hurts my ears."

"Hmm. And this ringing is new, yes? When did you first hear it and when's the last time you heard it?"

"It started a few nights before I went to the doctor and the last time I heard it was the night before I went to the doctor. Though it was softer that night. Short."

"You haven't heard anything since?"

Dean shakes his head no.

She jots something again and then places her full attention on him. "What was the main reason why you finally went to the doctor? You had been hearing voices for about a month. A ringing in your ears that seems to have gotten better before you chose to go. So what was the final straw that sent you to the hospital?"

Dean doesn't take his eyes away from her. "I saw something."

Dr. Mills doesn't react. She doesn't even gesture for him to continue. Just waits patiently for him to go on.

"I hadn't slept in a few days and my little brother came home from school. He was giving me some water. I couldn't even get out of bed to get water that day. I'd just been laying there, trying to ignore the voices or trying to finally sleep, and my little brother had to feed me water like I was a child." He takes a breath. "He'd just asked me a question, and out of the corner of my eye I saw a man standing there in a trench coat. He was dressed up but slightly disheveled. I'd seen him before, but only when I could sleep and only at night. I sometimes woke up to him standing at the end of my bed. He's not scary. It was comforting, in a way. Even though I knew this man shouldn't be in my room watching me sleep. But when I saw him that day with my brother...I knew something was actually wrong. Sam couldn't see him."

"So this man has been something you've been seeing? Have you had any other visual hallucinations?"

Dean shakes his head. "I've only seen him a few times, and never for very long. He's never spoken to me. I’ve never even really seen his face. I just know he has these piercing blue eyes. And I've never seen anything or anyone else but him."

Dr. Mills nods. "Let's discuss this imaginary friend you talked to the hospital doctor about. Why did you feel that was important to bring up?"

"He asked me if I'd been hearing voices, and I remembered hearing things when I was a kid. There was this creature. Human but not human that used to watch over me. It never told me to do anything bad. It was kind of the opposite. I feel like it protected me, but I know I could see and hear it and others couldn't. I just wanted to make sure it wasn't a part of all this, too."

"I understand.” She pauses, working something over. “Dean, you're at the exact right age to develop schizophrenia as a male. You've had symptoms for about a year, and this is the right time for more serious delusions and hallucinations to appear. Having an imaginary friend when you are young has nothing to do with your disease. It's quite common. But it does often mean that there was some reason to need a friend. Can we talk about your childhood? Your parents? You said you have a younger brother. Tell me about your family."

Dean sighs. And this had been going so well.

Dr. Mills must sense the change in mood. She shifts slightly in her seat but holds a steady gaze on Dean. "You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to, Dean. But I will say that the whole point of this is to find out what works best for you, and I can't do that if I can’t see the whole picture. Schizophrenia is often caused by a combination of genetic and environmental factors. If we can get at the environment, then we can figure out how to diminish your hallucinations before they even start. But you can't get better if you don't tell me everything."

Dean considers that. He's never been the type to talk to anyone about himself, even when he was well. But he's paying this woman to figure out what's going on with him, so it's now or never, right? He glosses over his mom. What he thinks he saw is a little too crazy, even for a shrink. "She died in a fire when I was four. I have a little brother, Sam, who's basically a genius. My dad's not around much. We're practically homeless. We've never actually lived on the streets, but we haven't had a house of our own in years. We had an apartment for a short amount of time when I was about 15, but then we went back to motels. We move around a lot. I've seen more of Kansas than anyone should ever see. My dad works odd jobs, but mostly he drinks. Before this happened, I took care of Sam. I was a mechanic. I was decent at school, but it wasn't really my thing. And there you have it."

Dr. Mills looks at him like she knows he's bullshitting her but lets it slide. "Thank you for telling me." She smiles at him, genuine and warm, and Dean finds himself trusting her despite how much he wanted to hate her. It's principle. You dislike the ones who try to get in your head.

"For next week, I want you to pay close attention to any reactions you might be having from the drug. You've been on it long enough that you might have some adverse side affects. Just stomach pain and the like. Nothing too serious. I just want you to start paying closer attention to your body. Of course please keep track of any hallucinations you might have, even things that seem relatively normal. If it feels even a little off, tell me about it." She pulls the small notebook from her lap and opens it again. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Dean. Next time, we'll talk more about your mother."

Before Dean can react, she snaps the notebook closed and stands up, hand already out and leading Dean toward the door. "Have an excellent week. Call me if you have an emergency." She presses a card into his hand and gestures him out of her office.

The receptionist is still busy typing, and Dean is still preoccupied with his session when he walks back into the waiting room and almost knocks over Jimmy Novak.

That same big smile is on his face, and he barely moves even though Dean is sure he hit him fairly hard. He takes an involuntary step back, almost into the closed door he just came out of. Jimmy is just that close.

"I hope it went ok, Dean," he says. "I hope you got some answers you were after."

Dean nods and steps around him. "Thanks for the concern," he calls behind his shoulder.

Jimmy is still standing there, arm up in a half wave, smile still plastered to his face and those big blue eyes looking at him. Dean just now registers a too big AC/DC shirt hanging off his body.

 _He might be crazy, but at least he has good taste in music_ he thinks as he nearly runs out of the office and into the underwhelming Kansas afternoon.

The same could be said for him.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean gets home an hour later. The Kansas public transportation system frankly sucks. He misses when he gets to drive the Impala, but Dad's been gone a while, and he just doesn't have enough funds to get another car. And the ones Bobby used to let him borrow at the garage are long gone since he just stopped going to work.

Sam's not home, of course. He's got several hours until school lets out, and Dean isn't used to the silence of the motel room when he's not in bed.

But he's got energy for the first time in a long time. The motel is filthy. For how much Sam has it together at school, he's never been the cleanest. Dean's been the one to take care of everything for as long as he can remember. Cooking, cleaning. Anything for Sam.

He starts with the kitchenette. The stove is dirty, but Dean can't remember the last time someone cooked on it. Sam's been microwaving terrible meals or fixing salads for himself. And Dean hasn't really been eating.

Cleaning helps. It's easy to fall into a mindset like this, just putting things where they belong. He's got the kitchen cleaned, the bathroom Lysoled, and is done fixing the beds when Sam finally comes home.

He doesn't close the door immediately, just looking at Dean.

"Hey," Dean says. "How was school?"

Sam snaps out of it at his words and and closes the door. "Hey. You feeling ok?"

"Yeah, feel great. What do you want for dinner?"

Sam drops his backpack on their dad's bed. "That diner down the street has some pretty good food. I can walk down there and grab something if you tell me what you want." He starts unzipping his backpack and pulling out folders and books and tossing them on the freshly made bed.

"Or I can make something if you want." Dean shrugs.

Sam stops and turns to him. "Yeah," he swallows. "Yeah, that would be good."

Dean claps his hands together once. "Alright! I'll head to the store. I'm thinking burgers." He grabs his wallet and walks to the door. "I'll be right back. Get ready for some good ole fashioned Dean Winchester hamburgers."

It's the happiest he's felt in a long time.

*

Sam watches his brother at the stove while he does his homework from their bed. He's humming slightly and swaying as he flips the burgers.

Dean's been doing better. Since he went to the hospital he's been slowly becoming his old self. Actually sleeping. Not talking to himself. He takes his medicine regularly, and he's been getting out of bed in the morning. And now Sam's come home to a clean room and a Dean who's _humming_ and cooking for the first time in months.

He looks less gaunt. More color.

"How was the appointment?" Sam calls.

"Good. I'm going back next week. She wants an update on any weird things. She thinks the medicine is working, but it's just a precaution."

Sam looks up from his book at his brother's back. "Have there been any weird things?"

Dean tenses, only for a second, but Sam sees it. "I haven't heard anything or seen anything in a few weeks. Been sleeping ok. Still hard to eat, but I'm getting better."

Sam pulls the hair out of his eyes. It's been difficult to talk about this. When Dean came home with a stack of papers and a diagnoses, Sam had been scared. He knew something was wrong, but it's hard to think that the one person in his life who has always been a constant is actually really sick.

"Anyway," Dean turns with two plates in hand, "it's time to eat."

He puts his books aside and gets off the bed. Dean pours him a glass of milk as Sam sits in front of his plate, something he's done since he was small, and sits across from him.

They haven't had a real meal together in a long time. The last time they sat at this table was when John was here, and they'd eaten crappy fast food and no one had spoken.

It's always been better when it's just the two of them.

"So how's school been?"

Sam puts down his burger. "Um, pretty good. I like some of my classes. It's been a good few months. We haven't really been in one place long enough for me to get used to it."

"Yeah." He wipes a finger across his bottom lip, mischevious look on his face. "I like being in one place, too. So, what else? What's new? We've got a lot to catch up on." He waggles his eyebrows.

Sam looks at him and blushes. How does he always know? "Uhhhh. There's another reason why I like school."

Dean smiles."What's her name?"

"Jess."

"Oh, yeah? How do you know her?"

Sam swallows a large bite and gets up to get another burger. He's constantly hungry. He turns back to see Dean slowly working through his burger, only a few bites in. But at least he's eating.

"We had Biology II together and just hit it off. She's in the honors program with me. She's really funny, and she's super smart." Sam pauses to rub at his cheek. She had kissed it earlier, but he’s not going to tell Dean that.

"Ooh, someone's in loooove," Dean crows. He smiles around a bite of his burger.

"Shut up, jerk!" he huffs.

Dean laughs. An actual, full laugh. "Bitch."

Sam smiles, and throws his head back, and then looks at his brother. He's happily eating, however slowly, and his face is flushed from laughter. And everything feels normal, and he feels a small breeze skirt across his hair before he goes back to finishing the meal Dean cooked for him.

*

Castiel is smiling. This plane is not nearly as invigorating as being with Dean in person, but the small moment with him earlier today is enough for now. Plus seeing him this happy again, almost back to his normal self, makes him ache with happiness. He can't stop his wings from vibrating, but luckily Sam does not notice his hair blowing.

The last time Castiel had touched Dean, touched him in a vessel as angels can't touch humans in their true form, it was when he was Cassie. To feel him again, even just his hand, years later sparked a fire in him that he knows won't recede.

But it’s dangerous to feel. To think.

He feels his brother before he sees him, a soft whooshing sound.

"Hello, Zachariah."

The man nods at him. "How close are you?"

"It takes time, you know this."

"Dean got his month. You've been working at this for too long. You need to get him to understand his purpose."

"He can't understand his purpose if we keep pushing him," Castiel grits out.

Zachariah turns to him. "Do you feel for this man, Castiel? Need I remind you of what happened the last time you fell for him?”

Castiel continues to look at the Winchesters at their table. Sam is laughing at something Dean said, and the way that Dean's eyes twinkle make Castiel's wings flutter. He won't look at Zachariah.

He puts a hand on Castiel's shoulder. "You have been cast out from Heaven, Castiel. You are barely allowed your grace, and you cannot come home until you prove that you can help. Dean will fall, and he will break the seal in Hell. It's only a matter of time. Do your job, Castiel. Or your grace runs out. And you will perish."

He squeezes lightly, and then Castiel hears the flutter of wings as he disappears.

He whispers so he doesn't disturb Sam and Dean, "he's not ready."

*

Dean drifts off relatively easily, feeling lighter than he has in years. It had been a totally normal night, but it was so good precisely because it was so normal. He'd eaten and had a conversation with Sam, and then he'd watched TV while Sam finished off his homework. Just like it used to be.

He's knocked out, or at least he thinks he is, when he feels something watching him. He wakes with a start, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes.

He can feel Sam's heat beside him, even though the bed next to theirs has been empty for weeks. Some habits die hard.

"Hello, Dean." The deep voice is gravel in his ear.

He jumps, but he does not cry out. He can't wake Sam. This is just another hallucination, and he refuses to wake his brother after the first normal evening in a year.

"It's alright," the voice says, "he won't wake up."

Dean places a finger under Sam's nose. He's breathing. He puts a hand on his arm and shakes. Nothing.

"Please. Stop," he whispers. He faces the shadows, closes his eyes, and says it again. But the darkness doesn't care.

He feels a soft breeze and looks up. Where there was nothing, now there is the man in the trench coat standing at the end of the bed. Dean groans.

"I thought I was through with this."

The man smiles and comes forward. He sits next to Dean, right next to him, and with the streetlight coming through the window, Dean finally gets a good look at the thing that's been haunting him.

"Jimmy," he breathes, and the man's blue eyes light up again.

"Not quite, but there's no real way to explain here."

He reaches two fingers out, and Dean inches backward.

"I won't hurt you, Dean. We just have much to do." The fingers come forward, and Dean feels nausea run through him before he finally opens his eyes.

He's standing in a field with mountains all around. And there is Jimmy Novak, hands behind his back, just looking at Dean.

"Boy, this is some elaborate hallucination," Dean mutters.

"It is not a hallucination, Dean. This is real."

"Yeah, ok. Can you just tell me whatever it is you're going to tell me so that I can go back to sleep? Or wake up? I finally felt like I was doing better, you know. And now here you are." Dean presses his palms into his eyes, hard. This is not happening. He opens his eyes when he hears that deep voice again.

"Dean Winchester, you are the Sword of Michael. You are the Righteous Man. You are needed to save the world from the Apocalypse."

Dean looks at the man, eyes unblinking and staring at him.

"Man, I don't know why my brain chose you of all people to be the one following me around all the time, but please just leave me alone." He huffs out a breath and looks at Jimmy again. "And if I'm some sort of sword or savior, then what are you? You look like a tax accountant."

The man narrows his eyes at Dean and presses his lips together. "I am an angel of the Lord, and I have come to set in motion what you need in order to save us all."

Dean groans and wipes a hand down his face. "An angel, huh? What kind of name is Jimmy for an angel? God, my subconscious is so fucked."

"Jimmy Novak is my vessel. My name is Castiel, angel of Thursday," he straightens as he says it, smoothing a hand down his coat.

"Castiel, huh? My imaginary friend Castiel who I just happened to start recently thinking about for the first time in years?" He taps a finger to his forehead. "I really need to ask for an increase in dosage."

The man looks taken aback by that. He stares hard at Dean and whispers, “you do remember.” 

He shakes his head, like he’s getting rid of a thought, before he continues.

"I know how this must sound to you, Dean, but we don't have a lot of time. My superiors are getting impatient. It seems the signs should have already started and they haven't. You are supposed to be ready by now, and it's partly my fault for protecting you all these years." And then quietly, just barely audible to Dean, "I told them you weren't ready."

"Whoa, hold on? Protecting me? Am I really that messed up that I think my creature imaginary friend is protecting me? Do I really think that highly of myself that I'm coming up with some crock explanation that I'm chosen to stop the Apocalypse?" He groans again and sits in the grass.

Jimmy—Castiel—walks up and kneels in front of him, hands braced on Dean's knees. "You are chosen, Dean. You are important. I was sent to watch over you, and I promise that is what I will do. But you need to understand how vital you really are. I can hold them off for a while longer. Time in Heaven works differently than here, but I will need you to break this wall down soon. For the sake of us all."

Castiel reaches two fingers forward again, and Dean is back in his room.

He wakes to the sound of Sam's alarm going off. It's light. He feels like he didn't sleep at all. He groans and sits up as Sam gets out of bed, scratching at his ass on the way to the bathroom.

Dean rubs his eyes, groping for remnants of his dream. Hallucination? He's not sure what counts as one, and makes a mental note to ask Dr. Mills that and about how he can increase his medicine. He throws the covers off him, unveiling his still surprisingly muscular legs.

He's been sick for a while, unable to eat or get out of bed, but his body has not betrayed him. He's still strong, thighs thick and arms just the right side of buff. But that's not what he's looking at right now.

He could care less about how his body has fared through this illness, because on both knees, in the same spots he dreamt Castiel clutching him last night, is a light burn mark in the shape of a hand print.

He traces the marks with his index finger and hears the shower start. He feels a breeze, and there is Castiel standing at the end of the bed again.

"I will save you, Dean Winchester, if it's the last thing I do."

And then he's gone.


	5. Chapter 5

It takes him the whole week to shake the feeling that he's being watched, and it took a mild sedative and an emergency call to Dr. Mills for him to finally feel even remotely settled.

He's in her office at the same time and same day as last week because she just couldn't fit him in a day sooner, which Dean gets, but what's the point in having a shrink for all the shit going on in his head if he can't even see her when he's at his worst?

This time, the waiting room is not empty when he arrives. And he doesn't like who he sees.

To avoid Castiel, no _Jimmy_ , he sits on the furthest wall away from him after checking in. He's happily flipping through a magazine, not paying any attention to Dean at all, but he doesn't want to take any chances. It's just his luck that the one person he's had an actual visual hallucination about would be the one person who just won't leave him alone in this stupid waiting room. And of course he didn't see Trench Coat's face until his run in with Jimmy Novak. His messed up brain is just sublimating images into the things Dean thinks he's seeing.

It's infuriating.

Jimmy does look up, just once, to see Dean already staring at him. He doesn't have that grin on his face this week. He's grimacing, eyes locked back on Dean like he knows Dean's thoughts, and Dean finds he has to turn away in order to keep his face from flushing further.

He swallows, almost ready to apologize for staring as he can still feel Jimmy's eyes on him, when the nurse calls his name. He jumps up, not looking at him, and makes his way back to Dr. Mills' office.

Before she can even close her door, he blurts out, "I had another hallucination. A big one. Or a dream, I don't know."

"Well, hello to you, too, Dean. Would you care to take a seat?"

He flops down in the chair opposite from hers.

"I woke up in the middle of the night to the trench coat guy again, except I saw his face this time, and he looks like someone I met recently. He told me why I'm chosen. I'm supposed to save the world from the Apocalypse somehow. That's why I'm hearing voices. He said he's an angel, and he was there to protect me, but he needed me to understand my purpose quickly." He takes a deep breath and looks up at Dr. Mills.

"Is it usual to relapse like this after starting a medicine when it's been working pretty well?"

She smiles. "It's not that you're relapsing, Dean. Don't think of this like an addiction. Your schizophrenia is advancing, and because you are on such a low dose of Chlorpromazine, it's likely as your illness manifests, we'll just need to up your dosage. I'm glad you called me, by the way. It shows that you are still very much in control of yourself, even if the hallucination scared you at the time."

She writes something else down as she speaks, and Dean stares at the dark hair falling into her face.

"How do I know this was a hallucination and not just a dream? It happened in the middle of the night. I don't remember falling asleep, and then I was just awake. How can I tell the difference?"

"Dreams have a slipperiness to them. If you were dreaming, you'd have no concept of one event after another. It bleeds into things. A hallucination feels more concrete. You feel present, in the moment. Which did it feel to you?" She places the end of the pen in her mouth and watches Dean.

He turns his lips down, pulling his eyebrows close together. "It felt real," he concedes.

Dr. Mills leans forward, studying him. "You're leaving something out."

Dean gapes up at her, mouth slightly open and cheeks flushing. "I woke up and had bruises on my knees. It kind of looked like a burn, but it was the same place where the angel touched me before I woke up. Is that normal?"

Dr. Mills frowns and sits back. "Do you remember getting out of bed during this hallucination?"

Dean shakes his head no.

She places the pen behind her. "Did you wake up next to anything that might have been used to hurt you?"

He shakes his head no again. What is she getting at?

"Are you sure that you have never had self-harming tendencies before? It's quite common with people who have your condition."

"What the hell are you saying, doc?" Dean crosses his arms and looks at her, panic ratcheting up in his chest.

She hesitates. Not a good sign. "When delusions and hallucinations escalate, often the person suffering will use self-harm to 'prove' that what he is seeing or hearing is true. If you say that someone hurt you on your arm, and then you show up with a cut along it, then people have to believe it, right? You have to believe it."

"I didn't do this to myself!" Dean explodes, out of his seat and standing behind his chair to keep from leaning over her before he realizes it.

To Dr. Mills' credit, she looks unfazed by his outburst. "It's entirely possible that you tripped and hurt yourself at some other time, and the hallucination was just a mirror of that. You said it's on your knees, right? Why don't you show me?"

Dean nods. Yeah, he can do that. Prove that it really does look like a hand print, that he might be losing it, but what he saw this morning on his body has to be true.

He sits back down and pulls his pant leg up past his slightly bowed leg. He gets it rolled up to his knee and then leans forward to show her. "It was less a bruise and more a burn. Felt like hell when the angel was touching me."

Dr. Mills looks down at him, and then back into his face, smiling at him sadly. "What do you see, Dean?"

Dean's face falls. He slowly looks down at his knee, and where there was a mark of a hand print before, now there is nothing but smooth skin.

"No, I swear it was here this morning. I promise. I'll show you the other one."

He yanks his pants leg up on his left leg and looks, pulling his jeans as high as they will go. But there's nothing. No mark, not even a hint of a mark. Nothing.

Dr. Mills looks at him. "Let's discuss an increase in dosage. And maybe having a chance to have your brother and dad attend a session with you next time."

*

From his spot in the corner, Castiel feels the human emotion flit across his vessel and tamps it down. If Dean wants to think he's crazy, then Castiel will give him crazy.

He's not sure why Dean is denying this so much. He can feel that he wants an explanation other than that he is crazy. He used to believe. When he was younger, Castiel could feel his soul pulling toward him, a gravitational force that Castiel couldn't deny. And now that he's as close as he's been in years, on the verge of a breakthrough with Dean that could save him and his brothers and finally set into motion the very thing they have been waiting for, Castiel feels that it's fading.

Their bond is fading.

He frowns as he watches Dean pulling shallow breaths in as Jody Mills comforts him. It should be him, he thinks, caressing Dean until he breathes normally, like he used to do when Dean was a child. Even just the mere presence of him in a vessel was enough to calm him.

Zachariah shows up moments later, standing next to Dean who has his head in his hands.

"I can't believe this pathetic human is the Sword of Michael." He shakes his head and walks closer to Castiel.

"Don't call him pathetic." He grits his teeth together. "He doesn't know what's going on. He thinks he's going crazy. And it doesn't help that so many of our brothers have been speaking to him. He just needs some time to get used to this."

"We don't have any more time, Castiel. Dean Winchester is due in Hell soon. He has less than an Earth year left. If you cannot get through to him, I'll assign someone else."

Castiel looks at his superior. When did his brothers start to fall so short? They were tasked with protecting the humans, and now they are obsessed with starting their demise.

"I can hear what you're thinking, Castiel. You should take care to remember our purpose, not just Dean Winchester's. The Apocalypse has been a part of the plan before our existence, and there is nothing we can do to stop it. This is fate. Your feelings about the man be damned."

Jimmy Novak's teeth hurt as he grinds them. It's a testament of how closely Castiel has let the man stay intact that he can feel it. He turns. "Zachariah, I only spoke to him last week. It will be too soon for me to go to him again. He will learn his purpose, and he will accept it. John Winchester is due back soon, and you and I both know that he holds a key in all this."

Zachariah's lips quirk. "And you and I both know what the Winchesters are capable of. May I remind you of how you wound up in this predicament? If Dean Winchester can turn an angel, the leader of the Garrison at that, into an emotional withering mess, then who's to say he can't weasel his way out of destiny?" He smiles, pulling his hands behind his back. He takes one look at Dean, quietly talking to Dr. Mills, and gives a last long look at Castiel before he comes forward with a finger outstretched.

"Don't," Castiel whispers.

"I'm sorry, Castiel. It's the only way to remind you of why you are doing this," and he touches him on the forehead.

*

Castiel is back to that night. Blinding, searing rage fills him.

"Damn it, Zachariah!" he yells. He can feel the house shake, his true voice too loud in the quiet night.

He's in Sam's nursery. The demon Azazel is there, palm sliced and dripping blood into Sam's mouth. He does not stop even when he feels Castiel's presence and hears his cry.

They've been down this road before.

"Castiel, are you here once again to stop me?"

The angel spreads his wings in wrath. "You know I am not, Azazel. Just like you will not stop me from saving Dean Winchester. Just like you know you cannot stop him from killing you."

At that, Azazel does look up. He balls his cut hand in a fist over Sam, blood pouring into the baby's crib.

"Oh, but hasn't the future already been changed? Don't you have something to do with that?" He laughs, his voice low. "The way I hear it, Sam and Dean Winchester do not grow up to be hunters. Meaning all those people they were meant to save just die, right?"

Castiel's wings flare out in anger again. "The details may be different, but the result is the same. Dean Winchester will beat Lucifer, and you will be killed."

Azazel's yellow eyes flash. "Keep telling yourself that."

They both turn to hear a tired Mary call John's name down the hall.

"Oops, that's your cue. Better go."

Castiel wants to say something more, but he can't. The past won't allow it. Azazel smiles and turns back to Sam.

Dean is sleeping soundly in his room, a framed picture of Castiel above his bed. His blonde hair is spread around him, framing his already beautiful face. Castiel hates that he has to wake him up.

It feels like this was only yesterday to him. But of course, it basically is.

He spreads his wings and reaches the very tip of his right one, which Dean says is the softest, to touch his cheek. It's almost comical how quickly he stirs.

Upon seeing Castiel, he smiles brightly, and Castiel feels his body hum. He has to physically control himself from bursting the light bulbs in the house when the boy reaches for him. Theoretically, he can come back to this moment if he wants. But with Naomi and Zachariah watching him so closely, he hasn't revisited this particular moment since the last time Zachariah forced him.

Dean crawls into his lap immediately, and Castiel wraps his wings around them both. They lay like that, Castiel knowing what's going to happen but being incapable of saying so, Dean snuggled into him, almost asleep again until he hears the first scream.

He pulls himself out from under the tangle of Castiel's feathers, ears peeled to the door, and doesn't get up until he hears the second. He jolts out of Castiel's hold and sprints toward the nursery, but Castiel is already there.

He has baby Sam in his arms, a laughing Azazel behind him. "I'll see you soon," and if Castiel hadn't already been to Hell, he'd think this is it.

He places Sam in Dean's arms just as the first flames start, and he's invisible again by the time John Winchester pauses briefly behind the boys, eyes shining in the fire light as his wife burns above him, before he scoops them up and runs out of the house.

For the life of him, the thing Castiel regrets most about that awful night is that he wasn't able to keep Dean from seeing his mother. That Dean has replayed that night for years, and that it's the main reason for his illness now.

Zachariah chooses that moment to show his face. Castiel standing, looking at the burning body of Mary Winchester in front of him, and knowing that he will never be able to do anything to change this. For all his powers, for his rank in the Garrison. None of it ultimately matters because he can't save one man from damnation. And that is his ultimate weakness—that he still tries.

"It's not easy for me, either, Castiel. You showed such promise before Dean Winchester. You still show promise when he's just a means to an end for you. But when you let these... _feelings_ get in the way of your mission, it's important to remind you just why we need Dean Winchester to become the Sword."

The words themselves are not what tips Castiel over. He knows the words. He's seen this before. No, what tips him over is knowing that Zachariah is going to transport him again and again, and he will forever be in this cycle. So when he feels the finger touch his forehead, this time Castiel can't help his form and he watches as the Winchester home bursts into flames while he is dragged by Zachariah to the happiest moment in his existence.

*

Dean is about 15. It's early summer, but already his freckles have darkened. Castiel cannot stop looking at him and it's what ultimately causes Dean to walk over to him.

The vessel—Cassie Robinson—is a soul mate in another lifetime for Dean, and perhaps that fact coupled with their already strong pull is what gets Dean to spot her from across the very large pool.

He saunters, already knowing how attractive he is, over to him. He puts on his best smile, folds his hands on top of the platform Castiel is sitting on, and just says, "Hi."

If Castiel were human, he'd know that this conversation is awkward, but he is not human, and he can feel Cassie warming to Dean's presence as well. "Hello," he responds, because it always comes down to a hello for him.

Dean turns his head to look toward the pool. He doesn't notice just how many lifeguards there are, and that no one seems to be paying any attention to the one he can't seem to move away from. "How long have you worked here?"

"A while," Castiel responds.

"Cool. Just haven't seen you around yet." He turns to look back at Castiel, biting his bottom lip. "And I'd remember seeing you here."

Castiel smiles, feeling Cassie's stomach flutter nervously. He licks his lips and doesn't look away from Dean. "But I remember you. You've been here for a couple of days. Just doing maintenance?"

Dean rests his head on his hands at Castiel's feet. "How astute you are. Yeah, I'm the new maintenance guy. To be honest, there's not really much to maintain. Except for that purple slide. That ones a real bitch, but you didn't hear it from you."

Castiel can't help himself, he laughs, and Dean looks like all the stars have aligned. He picks his head up and sticks his hand out. "I'm Dean."

"Cassie." They shake, and Castiel feels like he's flying when Dean turns his hand over and kisses the back of it. The small waterspout that shoots up from the kiddie pool after that grabs Dean's attention.

"Looks like I'm needed. I'll see you around?"

And Castiel thinks _you have no idea_ but nods instead.

He wasn't there when Dean came back later, but he was there the next day, and the next. Dean is relentless in his pursuit of Cassie. Castiel remembers John being home during this time, and that this is one of the few times they actually had a house, even though Castiel himself had tried to stay away. John was getting closer to figuring out the truth of what happened to Mary, and Castiel didn't want to unwittingly raise suspicions. He'd told himself Dean needed him, and he had, but the truth was Heaven had been quiet for a few hundred years, and he had watched Dean grow up so quickly, that moment as a ten-year-old so far behind them and the future too close ahead. Castiel needed to see him.

On the third night, Castiel was there when Dean finally got the purple slide running again right after the park closed. He'd been there when Dean all but stormed over to Cassie's stand and forced her to ride it with him.

They flit through the memories of this week, Castiel watching as Zachariah fast forwards until he finds the one he's looking for, but Castiel doesn't need Zachariah to remind him of this.

Dean leads Castiel up the ladder. It's tall, and his tool belt is still laying out in front of the slide. The other lifeguards are there, waiting to take turns once Dean goes, because they know it's his baby and he always deserved the first ride after fixing it.

Dean gets Cassie to sit between his legs, pressing his belly tight to her back. He wraps his arms around Castiel, and he feels Cassie's stomach flutter again. He thinks _why are you so nervous?_ and she responds, _that's not me_.

And then they are zooming down the slide, the water rushing past them, Dean's arms locked tight around Castiel, heart hammering in his chest. He can hear the whoops of the lifeguards above him, and then suddenly Castiel is underwater, and Dean is pulling him up and up until they finally break the surface. He briefly sees flashes of red as the lifeguards yell from the top of the slide, and then Dean has his face in his hands, head tilting, kissing him for all he's worth.

It's a good thing the street lights aren't on yet because no one seems to mind when the transformer blows. And then Cassie's small voice behind the rushing of thoughts in his head: _you idiot. This is love._

*

Castiel is wrenched from the moment much quicker than he would hope. There's more to the week, of course, but Zachariah doesn't seem to find the flirting lunches and after dark swims to be as entertaining as the next part. It felt like years for Dean, but for Castiel it's as simple as a blink. One moment he was staring at a lanky, cocky teenage Dean, and the next he's looking at a Dean who's filled out, shirt tight around his arms.

Dean sees him almost immediately. He's already a few beers deep, and his entire expression changes the moment he spots Castiel. His soul lights up, and Castiel couldn't stop himself from going to him even if he tried. Even if Zachariah tried.

Fate is an interesting thing. Castiel may not be able to change what's going to happen to Dean, but Zachariah can't change these moments with Castiel. He will always fall for the man, and Zachariah will always be showing him these moments again and again, trying to force Castiel to change.

For now, Castiel lets the moment play out. Dean approaches him and puts an arm around him. This time, Castiel is the one to pull Dean in, wrapping Cassie's arms around him and not able to keep his wings from vibrating at the touch. He can feel Dean's need, his longing for this very moment.

At his breathed "Cassie," Castiel did the only thing he could. As Dean grazed his lips against Castiel's, he turned and pulled him up the stairs to an empty room.

Fate is a difficult thing. This is not supposed to happen to an angel, but it had been written from the very beginning. Who is Castiel to deny that?

Dean lays Castiel out on the bed, staring at him like he can see through him. He kisses him, lips gentle and searching. Castiel kisses back, trying to hold back every molecule of his being from vibrating an earthquake in the room. It's the easiest thing for Castiel to bring Cassie's thumb up to caress his cheek, just as his wing used to. He's been in this moment hundreds of times since the first, and he will never get over the soft moan Dean lets out at the simple touch of his thumb on his cheek.

For an angel, Castiel has never had anyone worship him the way Dean does. He peels clothes off his body slowly, starting at his shirt. He kisses him all over, and Castiel knows he has lost control of his vessel when he finds himself panting underneath Dean. The feeling so foreign, yet he's been here before. He wonders if it always feels like the first time for humans, or if this is just because it's Dean.

When he reaches Castiel's jeans, Dean stops and looks over him. "Are you sure? I've never done this, and I just want to make sure this is ok."

It's a lie. Castiel of course knows about all the times he snuck out when money ran out, but he doesn't say anything. He probably means he's never done this with someone he actually cares about. Dean looks so vulnerable in this moment, and it's here Castiel remembers that Dean doesn't know what's coming. He just has this one night in this one place with him, and so he says, "I've never done this either." He takes Dean's hand and guides it to the button on his jeans. "Please."

It takes every ounce of control he has to keep from bursting any lights as Dean explores his body. When Castiel finally gets him down to just his boxers, he fingers the bruises, almost forgetting what John had done earlier.

Dean halts him, grabbing the probing finger and kissing it before looking into Castiel's eyes. "Cas," his green eyes darkened but searching as he breathes in swallowed gulps, "don't."

Castiel pulls his hand away, and then Dean is fitting himself to Castiel's borrowed body. He touches him lightly, fervently, and when Castiel can feel him get close, he wraps his legs around his waist and holds him inside. His wings vibrate with elation as he feels Dean pulse into him, grace rising to the surface and warming them both.

Castiel would choose to stay in this moment forever, but he knows what comes next. With two fingers to his forehead while preoccupied with a gentle kiss, Castiel puts Dean to sleep. He returns Cassie's body, and he finds Zachariah waiting for him.

"You know what I must do, Castiel," his booming voice gone soft.

Castiel has exhausted himself searching for any other option. He's changed the details. John did not raise Dean as a soldier in the fight for the supernatural, and yet Dean will be a soldier all the same. He's changed the details, but the end result is always the same.

After this, Castiel will storm Heaven, searching for anyone who will rebel with him to save Dean Winchester. He will kill very few, but he will kill regardless, and it will take Uriel's wisdom—the one Castiel himself trained—to show his superiors that Castiel is needed because there is no one Dean Winchester trusts more. They'll use him rather than kill him. But Zachariah doesn't need to replay this. Castiel knows it deeper than anything.

He nods, and then Naomi appears with a needle. Castiel knows this part, too, though he'd rather forget. He's always reset after that night with Dean. The love he felt too raw, too powerful a force for him to return to orders in Heaven until it was gone.

The simulator is always the same. A hundred Dean Winchesters, years from now, lined up. They are ready to fight him, though the Dean he knows has never raised a fist to him. The possibility is there because, though he did not change destiny, Castiel did change the details. In another life, Dean might have made Castiel bleed. And so Naomi forces him to kill again and again.

He cries through the first hundred of times, Dean still real and Cassie's voice still loud in his head. _This is love._ He starts to go numb. He's done this before, has always felt like he's done this. The green jacket becomes nothing to him, though he knows in another life it's been draped across his body. He stabs, and he sees the blood, and he doesn't react. It won't stop until Naomi is satisfied, and eventually, as it always does, the moment finally comes.

Zachariah stands in front of him again, fingers outstretched.

Dean is still leaning his head in his hands, Dr. Mills talking quietly above him. They are oblivious to what's just taken place.

"Do you know what you must do?" Zachariah asks.

Castiel nods. "I know my orders. I will rescue Dean Winchester from Hell. I will get him to say yes to Michael. He will start and end the Apocalypse, and then we shall return to Paradise."

"Good. And what happens to you should you fail?"

He pauses, looking at the man in front of him. One simple touch could cure him of this disease, but Heaven's orders are Heaven's orders, and Castiel is just a pawn in a much bigger game.

"If I fail, then I die."

Zachariah squeezes his shoulder again. "I hope for your sake that, this time, you succeed."


	6. Chapter 6

The upped dosage makes him tired, and Dean spends the next few days in and out of consciousness. He's still doing better than he was just a few weeks ago. He's talking, and eating, and Sam has even said he'd like Dean to meet Jess.

But this setback still sucks.

It's been four days since his freak out in the office with Dr. Mills. He's just woken up from another nap. Sam's already home, a pile of books on the small kitchen table, hair falling in his face as he writes something down.

Dean sits up. "Smells good," he grunts as he throws the blankets off of him.

Sam looks up, "Yeah. Nothing fancy. Making you some chicken noodle soup." He stops writing. "How you feeling?"

Dean rubs the back of his neck. "I'm ok, Sammy. Just tired."

Sam nods. "Well, eat something and then you can go back to sleep." He pushes back from the table and ladles soup into a bowl. He hands it to Dean and sits down on the bed.

Dean takes a small bite, cupping the bowl in his hands to warm them. Sam just looks at him.

He places the bowl on the side table. "Sam, I have to apologize."

Sam pats his leg. "It's ok."

Dean shakes his head. "It's not. I'm your big brother. I should be taking care of you, and for the past year all you've done is take care of me."

"Dean," his hazel eyes draw together. "You've taken care of me my whole life. More than any brother should. It's my turn."

Dean smiles. "Alright, Sammy."

They look at each other for a moment. Sam finally clears his throat and hands the bowl of soup back to Dean. "So Dr. Mills called your phone when you were asleep. She left a voicemail. She said she'd like to plan a time to meet with me and dad. Do you know why?"

"Um, yeah." He puts the bowl of soup in his lap, spooning the liquid and letting it drop. "My last hallucination, the reason for the increase in medicine, I found some bruises on my knees. I tried to show it to her, and there was nothing there. I think she wants to talk about self-harm."

"Dean," Sam whispers before clearing his throat. "Do you want to hurt yourself?"

"What? No! Of course not. I thought I saw bruises, but there was nothing. I can't help the hallucinations, Sam. I don't want to hurt myself."

"Ok, Dean. So when does she want me to come?"

"Well, she really wants to meet you and dad. I told her it would be kind of hard to get you both."

"Yeah, when's the last time dad was home anyway?"

Dean squints. "I don't know."

Sam lays out on the bed next to him. "I can't remember the last time we saw him. Do you know what job he was working on?"

"Something up in Wyoming. Maybe oil or something? He said it was a big job."

"Yeah, he didn't give a time frame for when he'd be back. Maybe we should call him and tell him what's going on?"

Dean shakes his head. "Absolutely not. I don't want him to know anything until he comes back. He doesn't need to worry."

"Ok." He sits up. "Well, I have a couple more things to finish. Why don't you finish your soup and then take a shower?"

"Alright."

Sam pats him on the leg again and gets up. They hardly talked about it, but the mere mention of his dad knowing anything about what's going on has his heart beating faster. John can't know. Dean's one task his whole life has been to take care of Sam, and he can't let his dad down. Not with that. 

Dean spoons the soup in his mouth and watches Sam finish up his homework.

*

As soon as he hears the shower turn on, Sam pulls his phone out of his backpack.

He hasn't talked to his dad in weeks. The last time he called, Sam had barely spoken to him. He was vague about what he'd been up to, and he could hear the sound of a bottle opening and liquid pouring in a glass. The only reason he'd called was just to wire more money and ask why Dean was no longer working for his friend Bobby Singer.

Sam had kept it brief. _Thanks for the money. Dean is thinking about going back to get his GED and he's studying right now, that's why he can't come to the phone and why he had to quit._ It didn't even really make sense, but John had grunted anyway and then made some excuse to get off the phone.

So Sam doesn't really want to call him now, but he's got no choice. They haven't heard from him in too long, and, sure, it's common for him to disappear for weeks on end, but he checks in from time to time, and it's never been this long.

He checks again that the water is still running, takes a deep breath, and dials. It rings and rings and rings, until finally he gets his voicemail. "This is John Winchester. I can't be reached. If this is an emergency, call my son Dean 866-907-3235. He can help."

Weird. Why would John change his voicemail for people to call Dean? And for help? He brushes it off as his dad probably means some bad deal he got into. Call his oldest son for help getting out of it. That bastard.

He hears the beep of the voicemail. "Dad, it's Sam. We haven't heard from you in a while. Just wanted to make sure you're ok." He clears his throat. "Dad, Dean is sick. He wants to wait until you get home to tell you whats going on, but I think it would be best if you came home for a little while. He doesn't want me to talk to you about it, and I don't want you to worry, but please just consider."

He presses end and shoves his phone back into his backpack when he hears the water shut off. Dean's bowl of soup is still on the bedside table, and he walks over and places it in the sink. He ate most of it, but there are still several swallows left.

It's not late, but Dean is back in pajamas when he comes out of the bathroom. He rubs a towel through his hair.

"I'm going to lay back down. You can watch TV if you want." He throws the towel on the other bed and all but collapses into bed.

"It's ok. I'll just read." Sam pulls a novel out of his backpack and pulls the covers back on John's usual bed.

Dean turns on his side and looks at Sam. "You gonna sleep over there?"

Sam opens the book, not looking at him. "Yeah, might as well, right? We're too big to sleep in the same bed, and it's not like dad's here anyway." He glances up.

Dean's lips are parted, but he doesn't look mad. He just looks so, so tired. "Makes sense." He rolls back over, lips pressed into a line.

"Goodnight, Dean."

"Night," he grunts.

*

Sam is asleep quickly. The boy won't admit it, but he's tired. Castiel moves his book to the side and hangs the towel back up in the bathroom. He pulls the covers over Dean and then turns the bedside light off, shrouding the dingy motel room in darkness.

Castiel can feel Dean's body rise and fall with his breaths. It's gentle, and Castiel remembers how often he's felt the fragility of his body. How often he's been in charge of keeping him safe.

He smooths the hair back from his face from where it's grown too long.

"It's time," he hears Zachariah say.

He takes one last look at Dean before he meets the army in Heaven.

He's not going to Hell. It's Uriel who will pull John Winchester out, Castiel thought too valuable to risk. He's here to talk strategy before the mass moves.

They have on their armor, angel swords gleaming in the light. "You will go in waves," he announces. "Uriel will be in the middle. The second group will be a diversion, with the third taking Uriel with them into the pit. We think John Winchester is there. The demon we captured strongly thinks that he will not have many guards, but we will not take any chances."

Zachariah appears then, adjusting the helmet on a soldier close to him. "Brothers, this mission is dangerous, but it is necessary. Do whatever you can to get John Winchester out, but keep yourselves safe. We will be successful. Our future depends on it."

He nods at Castiel. Castiel looks at the crowd gathered before him. "We will be here when you return. John Winchester will not go home immediately. The safe house is in Illinois. Take him there and wait for me."

He spreads his wings in anticipation. "Now go."

They nod at him in unison and then they are off.

*

John Winchester is not as Castiel remembers. The slim young man he knew many years ago has filled out. He has not kept up with him, even with how close he's stayed to Dean.

He's sleeping when Castiel shows up several hours after his rescue. Zachariah meets him in the living room of the old home.

"We were successful," he says as soon as he catches sight of his superior.

"Of course we were."

"It was not without risk, Zachariah."

He scoffs. "Everything is with risk, Castiel."

Castiel pauses. It does no good to argue with Zachariah. "How is he? How many did we lose?"

Zachariah looks at the man sleeping on the old couch. "He was unguarded as the demon said. He is broken. It took a lot to put his soul back together. The demons we saw were unconcerned with us taking him, but they did fight back. Dina, Afriel, Jophiel, Tabbris, and Zadkiel were lost."

Castiel purses his lips. "Can I wake him?"

Zachariah nods. "I'll leave you."

The room goes quiet as the other angels go. Castiel kneels beside John and lightly touches his index finger to his forehead.

He gasps, sitting up and trying to shove at Castiel as soon as he sees him.

"Stop," Castiel commands. John stills and looks at Castiel.

"Who are you?"

"My name is Castiel."

"Castiel? Why does that name sound familiar?" He rubs a hand down his face, a style too similar to Dean.

He squints. "I have been watching over your family a long time. Specifically your son, Dean."

John coughs and grabs at a glass of water on the floor. Castiel hands it to him, letting the man drink before he speaks again.

"What do you want with Dean?"

Castiel places the glass back on the floor. "I'll tell you all of this in due time. First, please tell me what happened to you.”

John closes his eyes and leans against the armrest of the couch. "They took me outside of Bismarck. I was on a lead to find the yellow-eyed demon. I think I got close. They cornered me in a warehouse by the river. They tried to get me to turn over my boys, and I said no. Then I was hanging on a wire in Hell."

The man takes a deep breath and looks up at Castiel, eyes searching.

"What do you remember in Hell?"

John looks down. "They tortured me. Alastair. He was working for Azazel, that's the demon who killed Mary. I don't know what they want, but he tortured me for years. He said he'd stop if I did the torturing."

Castiel looks at him. "Did you?"

John huffs. "No. I thought about it. But, no. I couldn't do it."

"Did they say what they wanted with you?"

"I was on the racks most of the time. Alastair said a lot. There's something coming. Something big," he meets Castiel’s eyes. “I guess that's why you're here." He leans up and looks at Castiel close. "Whatever they want, whatever reason they took Mary, what they want with my boys. You know something. So tell me what's going on."

Castiel pauses, looking at the man in front of him. He doesn't particularly like John Winchester, having nursed Dean's wounds too many times. But the man needs to know.

"Someone wanted you and Mary Campbell together. You were meant to come together, and your two sons are a big part of that. Azazel took Mary ten years after she made a deal to save your life."

He swallows. "I don't remember that."

"You wouldn't. She covered it up. Her parents died horrifically, and she wanted to start over. You were her way out of the life. She didn't want to be a hunter anymore. But Azazel knew that and killed you to get to her. Your two boys are needed for something big, but we don't know what. We think the demons took you in order to get to Dean. He is the Sword of Michael, the only thing that will defeat Lucifer in the event he is freed. They thought they might break you. Trade your life for his."

"Never," he says. "They'll never get him."

Castiel presses his lips togther, standing up as John leans back against the cushions. If only it were that easy.

"You should rest. We'll talk about what will happen when you get home later."

John moves down into his makeshift bed and closes his eyes. Just as Castiel is turning to leave, he speaks. "When Mary died, I made sure Sam and Dean knew nothing about this life. I didn't want my sons growing up in a world with evil all around. Why do I get the feeling that I won't be able to keep my promise?"

Castiel turns and looks at the man. He's asleep in seconds, but his words haunt Castiel.

He's changed the details, but there's no changing destiny. Maybe it's time Castiel gave up trying.

Zachariah is back as soon as John's breathing evens out. "We'll send him back in a few days. He won't be able to tell his sons anything, you still have that job, but they will need to leave. He may not have had many guarding him, but I'm certain they followed him out. We need to be careful."

"Everything is with risk," Castiel mimics.

Zachariah looks at him and places his hand on his shoulder. Castiel feels the weight sit heavy on him.

*

Three days later, John Winchester walks into the motel room Sam and Dean have made into a caricature of a home. Dean is awake, almost back to normal, and Sam is sitting on the bed watching a nature documentary.

They look up as John closes the door.

"Boys, it's time for us to go."


	7. Chapter 7

Dean jumps up from the kitchen table.

"Dad! Hi! When did you get back?" He glances at Sam, and he turns off the TV without Dean needing to say anything.

John closes the curtains on the window. "Recently." He turns to look at them, Sam now standing next to Dean in the kitchen. "I need you to start packing. We've been here too long." He throws his duffel bag on his bed.

Dean looks at his brother. Sam bites his bottom lip, and Dean almost gets an elbow into his side, but he's too late.

"Sir? We don't want to go."

John looks up from rooting around in his bag. Dean hears Sam swallow beside him. "You don't have a choice."

"But, Da-," this time Dean does get an elbow into his side. He moves over to the closet which holds his clothes before Sam has time to retaliate.

He turns his back and starts pulling his clothes out. He clears his throat. "Dad, Sam is really liking it here. Is it possible that we can stay close enough that he can keep going to the same school?" He throws his clothes on the bed, still not looking at his father.

John stills, glancing at Sam, who's still rubbing his side. "I don't think it's for the best. You've been here for what? Five months or so? We've got to go a few hours away at least. Maybe another state altogether."

Sam's mouth drops open. "Dad! No! We need to stay. We've got friends. Dean needs to stay, too!"

"Sammy," Dean warns.

John finally turns. "Look, I don't know what's been going on around here, and I don't really care. My job is done, and I got into some trouble. We need to move, and that's it."

Dean looks at his brother, his lip poking out. He's close to crying, and Dean can't leave it like that. He walks to the kitchen, pulling out a bottle of Johnnie Walker from the top cabinet and pouring a glass. No ice, just like his dad likes.

"Sir," he hands him the glass, "we don't mind moving again. Sure, we've been here a while, and if you got into trouble, I can help. Bobby can help. What good is it for us to run off? I've been saving some money up. We'll just pay off whatever debt you owe."

John laughs darkly. He swirls the liquid in the glass. "It's not money, and I'm not asking. Pack your bags and let's go." He takes another sip before turning back to the duffel on his bed.

Dean sees a tear slip down Sam's face before he harshly wipes it away and pulls his own bag out from the closet. He stuffs his clothes in his bag as Dean does the same.

They don't have a lot of personal effects. Years on the road and in and out of dingy motel rooms means it's necessary to pack light.

John shoves the rest of his stuff into the bag before downing the whiskey and walking into the kitchen to grab another. Dean is zipping up his bag and helping Sam gather his school stuff when John clears his throat.

"What's this?" he rattles the pill bottle as he says it, making both Sam and Dean's heads whip around. John brings it closer to his face, reading the description.

"It's nothing," Sam moves to grab the bottle out of his dad's hand, but John pushes him off.

"Dean. This has your name on it. What is this?"

Dean looks from his brother to his father. "I, um. I was diagnosed a few months ago. It's my medication."

John grunts, throwing the bottle on the table and finally pouring himself another glass of whiskey. "You don't look sick to me. "

"He is, Dad," Sam says, stepping around Dean and right up into John's personal space. "I called you a week ago. You didn't get it?"

Dean scoffs. "You called him to tell him there's something wrong with me?"

Sam whirls around, looking at his brother. "It's not like that. We just hadn't seen him in a long time. I was worried, and your psychiatrist wanted to talk to both of us."

"Psychiatrist? Dean, tell me what's going on." John puts his glass on the table, nearly slamming it, and leans his body over one of the old chairs.

Dean takes a deep breath. "It's not a big deal. I've been hearing some things that aren't really there. Seeing things. So I went to the hospital, and they diagnosed me with schizophrenia."

"He's seeing a psychiatrist to help manage his hallucinations. That's why it's important we stay," Sam pipes up.

John looks back and forth between his two boys before sitting in the kitchen chair and downing his whole glass of whiskey. "What kind of hallucinations?" He reaches for the bottle and pours more.

"Dad, it's not that big of a deal. I'm fine." Dean glances at Sam, silently begging him to go.

John must catch it because he grunts, leans up to grab his wallet, and hands a few dollar bills to Sam. "Why don't you go get your old man a coke?"

Sam looks at Dean, eyes wide and worried, but Dean just nods his head slightly and he turns toward the door without a word.

When Sam is gone, John motions for Dean to sit. "Now tell me what kind of hallucinations."

Dean drops into the chair across from his dad. "I've been hearing some things. It's like whispering. Different voices. It's not dangerous or anything. Just stupid stuff. They say I'm needed for some mission for God. I'm a sword or something." Dean has never felt more embarrassed talking to his dad in his life, and that includes the time he'd tossed a box of condoms at him before going into a very brief birds and bees talk.

John looks at him, face unreadable.

"So I went to the hospital, and the doctor there diagnosed me with schizophrenia. He recommended me to Dr. Mills, and I've been seeing her once a week. She's helped, I think."

He takes another long drink from his glass, not looking at Dean. John hasn't hit him in a long time, but it seems like now would be the kind of moment he would, and Dean doesn't know how to prepare himself for it. He's just not as strong as he used to be.

Finally, his dad puts the glass down and looks at him. "I know I haven't been around enough to take care of you. I know that must've been hard for you, looking after yourself and Sam. You're a man now, Dean, and if you think that these pills and that crackpot head doctor is helping you, then who am I to say otherwise?"

Dean looks at his father. His hair is unruly, scruff grown out on his face. He looks older than the last time he's seen him, but he's sure he probably looks the same to his dad. "I know it's not what you want to hear, sir, but this is the first time in a year I've actually felt ok. It got bad for a while. I mean, Sam's been having to take care of me."

John frowns and picks back up his glass. He just holds it in his hand, looking at his son. "Listen to me, ok? We'll get out of this motel. We'll stay close enough that you can keep seeing your doctor and Sam can go to that school, but I have to leave again. And I don't know when I'll be coming back." He reaches to pull out more money, throwing a wad of it in front of Dean. "That's enough to cover the basics for a while. I want you to go back to Bobby and ask for your job back. He'll be expecting you."

That's it. He drinks what's left in his glass, slaps the table, and slings his bag over his shoulder. Dean's shocked. No argument over this, no telling him he's wasting his life and nothing's wrong with him.

Sam walks in then, two cokes in his hand and loose change clinking against one of them. He shuts the door behind him, hands a can to his dad and opens the other for himself. John pops the tab, takes a long drink, and then hands Sam's bag to him. He doesn't look at his youngest son.

"Dad," Dean walks over to his own duffel and grabs the straps before turning back to face his small family, "are you ok?"

John quips a side of his mouth up. "Of course."

He tosses the key to the Impala to Dean before moving back to the kitchen table to grab Dean's pills and what's left of the Johnnie Walker. He shoves the bottle in his bag and hands Dean the orange container. "Now get a move on."

Sam grabs his backpack and follows John out the door, not turning to look at Dean. They know the drill. There's no arguing when it comes to this. They leave and they don't come back, but this time is different. Not the same motel, but maybe they'll get to stay around here anyway. And why? Because John is finally feeling sorry for not being around their whole lives?

Dean scoffs and looks around. Just another dingy motel room in Kansas, but they've spent the most time here. They weren't always happy, but at least he had Sam, and at least there was routine. Now he's being uprooted yet again.

He looks down at the pill bottle in his hand before shoving it down in his bag. He clutches the Impala key, walks out without another look around, and closes the door behind him.

The Winchester boys throw their bags in the backseat piled up high so that Sam has enough room. John never lets them into the trunk, no matter how much junk they have, stating that the car is in just too good a condition to ruin when he could just replace the floor mats if something spilled.

Something seems off, but as Dean starts the car and hears her purr for the first time in months, he doesn't care. Let his dad feel guilty and be in danger from some unknown threat. Let him be losing his mind. None of it matters because he's back in his baby with Sam safely behind him.

He almost feels good as new.

*

Castiel watches the whole thing, of course.

John Winchester did well. Dean is none the wiser, though Castiel knows it was very difficult for him to keep in. The youngest Winchesters are asleep in a double bed in an even dirtier motel room than their last. John is pacing, throwing glances at the boys and taking pulls from the almost finished bottle of Johnnie Walker.

For how nervous Castiel can sense he is, John does not jump when he appears out of thin air.

"How long do you think I can keep them off their backs?"

Castiel looks at the man. "Dean has the entire host of Heaven looking out for him, John. It's you we're worried about."

John grunts, producing a small whine of a noise that Castiel thinks is an aborted laugh. "Can you guarantee that they will be safe?"

Castiel looks at the man he's protected his whole life. "I can't guarantee anything, but I do promise we are doing everything in our power to keep the demons away from them. Dean will be told of his mission soon."

"And what exactly is that again?" John stops pacing, eyeing Castiel.

"He's going to save Earth from damnation. He's the Sword of the Archangel Michael, and he will stop the breaking of the seals and the release of Lucifer."

Castiel hates lying to him, but he has no choice. Zachariah, Naomi, and Uriel are all close. John Winchester does not need to know that the angels have no intention of stopping the breaking of the seals or the release of Lucifer. They want the Apocalypse to happen because it means Paradise on Earth. More to rule. More space for angels to roam. And with it, the hopeful return of their Father.

Even Castiel is drawn to that one. If the angels win the Apocalypse as they are foretold to, then their Father will surely return to them, to see what good works they have accomplished. Order will be restored. Castiel likes order.

"Does this schizophrenia business have anything to do with that?" John looks at Castiel hard, but he’s not intimidated. He's just one man and Castiel has controlled armies.

"This is taking some adjustment for Dean. He's always lacked a certain faith, and my superiors think it's good if we show him his purpose slowly. It's a natural reaction for humans to explain away phenomena, especially those who are not religious."

"But he's taking medicine. Surely that can't be safe if nothing is wrong with him?"

Castiel waves his hand in front of him. "His brain is adjusting. This is the natural process. He feels it is showing him a clearer vision of what's going on around him. To everyone else, the things he is hearing and seeing do warrent a diagnoses, medication. It’s important that he does not let on to others what's happening. Demons can catch word. If he continues to seek help, then they won't put much stock in what he has to say. He's done remarkably well at staying under the radar."

John swallows, looking at his oldest son asleep in front of him. "Let's keep it that way."

Castiel looks at him. He almost looks nothing like Dean, but their haunted eyes are similar. Dean, in another life, the one before what Castiel changed, grew up a soldier, doing John's bidding and hunting on his own. He was strong and terrifying. He saved so many lives, but he was so alone. Castiel wonders if this life is any better.

"I'll do everything in my power to keep him safe."

John looks at him. "I know you will."

He walks over to his boys and sits on the bed opposite. He smooths a hand over Dean's arm in a rare show of emotion, and Castiel watches as Dean shifts but does not wake up.

"That's why I'm leaving." John looks up at Castiel then and holds a hand up as Castiel starts to protest. "You can watch over them. Hell, all the angels in the world can watch over them, but this yellow-eyed demon isn't going to stop. And I won't stop until I get him."

"But, John, killing him won't stop the Apocalypse. You're hardly chipping away at anything."

John shrugs. "You still don't know what he wants with those children, and I'm still not convinced it doesn't have something to do with all this. So I'm going to go and stop that bastard. And I'm going to look the thing that killed my wife in the eye as it dies."

Castiel knows it's no use. John has been searching for years, and if the agony he faced in Hell won't stop him from seeking out Azazel and an eminent death, then his words won't help.

John takes the quiet as acceptance and stands up. He pulls his journal from his bag and walks to Castiel. "Give this to them when it's time. Maybe he'll be able to understand if he hears it from me."

Castiel takes the leather bound book. John leaves the key to the Impala on the bedside table, gathers his bag, and looks at Castiel again. "Where's the last sighting?"

"Santa Fe, but we think they're heading north again."

"Well, Santa Fe it is."

Castiel nods and reaches out two fingers to John's forehead. Before he presses it, he looks John in the eyes. "You've been a good servant. You will be rewarded."

John just nods. "The best reward you can give me is keeping your promise," and then he leans into the touch.

In the quiet, Castiel knows this is the moment that he'll need to seriously tell Dean everything. But he's going to wake in the morning with no father, no note, and no idea when or if he'll ever see him again.

For now, Castiel lets him sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean wakes to low light. It's barely six, and Sam is still snoring beside him.

He looks over at the empty bed. It's still made, expertly so, which means his dad never went to sleep.

He sits up and looks around. He'd slept surprisingly well considering it's a new place.

The Johnnie Walker bottle is empty on top of the mini fridge. John's bag is gone.

Dean throws back the covers, puts his hand on the bedside table, and winces as something jabs into his palm while he pulls himself up.

The key to the Impala digs an imprint into the meat of his hand. Dean picks it up, turning it over, as if it weren't a familiar sight.

He races to the door and unlocks it, not caring that he's stepping outside in nothing but his boxers.

The Impala is there, black and shiny, and there's nothing in the car. Immaculate. 

Dean goes back into the new room. There's no note. No bag. Nothing to suggest John was even here except for the empty Johnnie Walker bottle.

He's not panicking. There's no need. John always leaves them. But he at least tells them beforehand. At least says goodbye.

Dean sits on the opposite bed. The one no one has used. It must be pretty bad for his dad to just take off without so much as a glance. In the middle of the night. John's done a lot of fucked up things, but never that. Dean tries his hardest not to think that it's because of him.

But he did just tell him what he is.

At that thought, the stroking of his cheek returns, and Dean leans away from it rather than in to it.

"Just show yourself. S'not like I can control what happens to me anyway."

The man appears on a sigh, sitting right next to him on the bed, blue eyes already trained on him.

"Why is it you that I see and not any of the million other random people I've met in my life?"

Castiel looks at him. "Because I am not random."

Dean huffs, shifting away from where their thighs touch. "And I guess you have some words of wisdom on why my dad's back and gone, right? Let me guess. Fairies took him. A big ogre chased him out in the middle of the night. He's secretly a vampire and that's why I haven't seen him in daylight?"

Casitel squints, deep line between his eyebrows making Dean almost apologetic. "I realize you are being facetious, but those things are not laughing matters."

Dean groans, flopping back on the bed and pressing both palms into his eyes. Castiel looks over him, greedily roaming his eyes over the nearly naked man, and remembers the last time they were in a bed with Dean only in his boxers. He struggles to tamp down the heat curling inside of him. Jimmy Novak was married when he agreed to be his vessel, and the fact that he has been deprived of his basic human instincts for so long must be messing with Castiel's ability to control himself.

He ignores the thought in the back of his mind that he can't blame it on Jimmy.

"Just tell me what you want," Dean grits out, palms still pressed hard into his eyes, unwilling to look at Castiel.

"I want you to accept the inevitable. I want you to understand how important you are to this mission."

Dean sits up then, face red and nearly bumping into Castiel. "You want me to kill myself."

Castiel's mouth opens, looking at the furious man in front of him. "Dean," he whispers, and the man closes his eyes at his name.

There are so many thoughts running in Castiel's head. Things he's not allowed to think. So he does the only thing he can. He presses two fingers to his forehead, wrapping Dean against himself, and makes him open his eyes.

*

Dean has barely taken a breath when he's landing, stumbling hard into a wall. The home smells familiar, an ache he doesn't understand, not right away, until he opens his eyes and sees the impossible in front of him.

It's him, much, much younger, and a Castiel that looks as Dean vaguely remembers. He opens his mouth, turning to look at the Castiel Dean knows as Jimmy Novak, but before he can get a question out, the man presses a finger to his lips.

"I don't mean to frighten you. You have so many questions, things I can't answer. You are the Sword of Michael, destined to defeat Lucifer. The only one who can lock him in a cage when the demons try to release him, as they've been doing. They are looking for you so that you cannot succeed. Your father knows of this, and he has gone to find the demon who killed your mother. The thing that started this all." He pulls back his finger, moving instead to gently cup Dean's chin so he is forced to look at him. "My name is Castiel, angel of the Lord. I have been looking after you your entire life, and I have promised to keep you safe."

Dean swallows, and Castiel feels it. The man turns to look at himself as a child, wrapped under the magnificent wings of Castiel's true form, dozing lightly on his chest.

"They can't see us?"

Castiel shakes his head. "Time is fluid, so it is possible for you to go back to the past or to your future. You’d be able to interact with anyone then. But this is a memory. The memory can't see who is remembering it, but the person doing the remembering can put themselves back in that moment. You can’t change anything in a memory. This is the best way to get you to understand."

Dean stares at his younger self, eyes glassy in the low light. Castiel has his wings wrapped tightly around him, and Castiel remembers how safe and warm he felt, even knowing what was going to happen.

Dean surprises him when he speaks.

"Can I feel what he—me," he huffs, "what I felt then now?"

Castiel looks at him. "This is your memory, too. You can remember how you felt in this moment."

Dean turns to him, looking at him with a mixture of fear and devotion. He parts his lips, eyes dancing over Castiel's face, before swallowing hard and whispering, "I loved you."

And then the shout has the smaller Dean jolting up, Castiel's wings humming violently in the room. As he allows the child to go, Castiel pulls the adult against himself to keep him from following.

Then the four of them are watching as Mary's body burns above them. Child Dean doesn't cry, doesn't even stick his bottom lip out, as Castiel places Sam in his arms. Azazel turns, eyes flashing the yellow that Dean will always hate.

Castiel and Dean watch as John stands behind his sons, frozen as his wife is slowly killed. He grunts when the demon looks at him, and then he all but throws Sam and Dean down the stairs.

Dean's fists are clenched. He looks at the thing that has haunted him his entire life. Castiel wraps his wings around him, shielding him as the room explodes.

*

The motel bed is not a soft reprieve when they come back. Sam is still very much asleep, and Dean is sobbing into Castiel.

He holds him, wishing with all his might that there was some other way.

Zachariah stands there, unseen by Dean, but disapproving frown very much visible to Castiel. He doesn't like the contact. To him this man is nothing. To Castiel, whether he likes it or not, he is everything.

Suddenly, Dean is slamming his fists into his chest, screaming at him. "Why would you take me there? Why would you make me remember?"

Castiel can do nothing but look at him, wings trying hard not to break open every window in this place.

Naomi stands next to Zachariah then, and Castiel thinks, _"I did what you asked. Please don't make me kill him again."_

Naomi offers him a sad, cold smile. _"Not this time,"_ she responds.

Sam stirs next to him, and Castiel knows it's time to go.

He holds Dean's fists, forcing the man to look at him. In another time, if Castiel weren't being watched so closely and if Dean already knew of their bond, he'd lean in and kiss his forehead. But Dean doesn't know, so he doesn't. All he sees of Castiel is the thing that has showed him the worst kind of truth. He doesn't yet know how much Castiel cares for him. All the things he'll give up for him. The life they could have had if Dean's destiny wasn't so absolute.

Instead, Castiel looks at him, the man he loves, and says, "When you're ready, all you need to do is pray."

And then he's gone.

*

Dean wakes up in a hospital bed, wires and beeps and terrible smells all around him. He groans, gasping as the feeling sets his throat on fire, and then he's being helped up by large hands on his back.

Sam hands him a plastic cup of water, guiding the straw to his mouth.

It helps, but only slightly. "Why am I here?"

Sam looks at him, eyes round and full of concern. And fear. Dean hates himself for that.

Before he can answer, Dr. Mills knocks on the door.

"Good, you're up." She hands Sam a bottle of Sprite and takes the seat next to Dean's bed.

"Do you remember what happened?" she asks. Aloof. Not unconcerned, but definitely professional.

Dean shakes his head.

"You had an episode. A psychotic break. Sam found you screaming, almost naked, trying to rip your hair out."

So no sugar coating it then.

He looks at his brother who avoids meeting his eyes.

"Dean," she says, drawing his attention back to her. "These things happen typically after something has triggered it. Sam told me your dad came home, but he hasn't been back since that night. Can you talk to me about why you think you reacted the way you did?"

She waits, eyes betraying the concern her professional voice doesn't show. He flicks his eyes back up to his brother and then back at Dr. Mills. She smiles, imperceptibly, and then turns to Sam.

"Can you please excuse us for a moment?"

The boy starts to protest, but he looks at the two of them and then leaves, shutting the door gently behind him.

Dr. Mills waits for Dean to speak first.

"He hasn't been back in a long time," Dean whispers hoarsely.

She narrows her eyebrows. "Who? Your father?"

Dean shakes his head.

"You saw something?"

"I thought I was fine. And then my dad shows up for the first time in months, and we have a conversation where we don't scream at each other. And then he's just gone. The guy came back. The one with the trench coat. I was wide awake when he showed up this time."

Dr. Mills looks at him, not speaking as Dean presses his eyes closed tightly.

"He took me back to see it." He feels a tear slide down his cheek, but doesn't even attempt to lift a hand to stop it.

"See what?" Dr. Mills voice is small, like she's trying not to spook an animal, and Dean thinks that's really all he is.

But he's already spooked.

"My mother die." The words come out rough, and Dean feels Dr. Mills shift closer.

"We haven't talked about this," she says.

Dean nods. "I didn't want to tell you about it because then it would make it real."

"Do you want to talk about it now?"

Dean turns his head, looking out the window into an ugly Kansas hospital parking lot.

"I was four. The angel Castiel, the man I've been seeing, it turns out he was that imaginary friend from when I was little. He was letting me sleep in his wings. I woke up when I heard her scream, and then I ran to Sam's room. There was a man standing there. My mother was on the ceiling, blood on her white nightgown, face in a scream." Dean closes his eyes to the image. "I must have made a noise, something, because the man turned around. He had yellow eyes. And he smiled at me. Castiel put my brother in my arms, and my mom burst into flames, and then my dad took us outside before we could die, too."

"Where does seeing your hallucination come into this? What was going on before?"

Dean hates that she's so clinical, but he turns his head back to her and isn't angry. She looks at him rapt, genuine concern on her face.

"I woke up that morning and my dad was gone. He left his car. He loved that car, so I know he's not coming back because he'd never leave it. I was just sitting on the bed, and he showed up. He told me it would be easier to show me. He took me there. I could feel him taking me there. It's hard to explain. And then I was looking at myself when I was four. He stayed with me while I watched it happen, and then he was there when I got back to the room. He just said that all I needed to do was pray. That's all I remember."

Dr. Mills looks at him, surprise on her face. 

"What?" he asks.

She shakes her head. "It's just that it's incredibly odd that you had a hallucination take you back through a memory so vividly. I've never heard of it happening."

He furrows his eyebrows in confusion. "Are you saying it didn't happen?"

"No, what I mean is that I'm certain you had a hallucination. This angel you're seeing, it's your only visual hallucination. It's very common for strong visions to happen when you are introduced to some stress. Your father coming back and then disappearing, for example." She clears her throat. "I've just never heard of a hallucination taking a person through a terrible memory."

Dean's eyebrows furrow further. "I don't understand what you're getting at."

She sighs and rubs a temple. "Neither do I. I think what I'm trying to say is that this is a rare psychotic break, especially after you were getting better. Hallucinations happen to schizophrenics, yes, but they are typically just involved in the scene around them. You see something at work, or at home. They exist in the world around you. The world you create. I've never heard of one taking someone through a memory, especially one that you’re actively trying to avoid."

"So maybe this isn't all fucked up brain bullshit," he says.

She looks at him, the already thinly disguised worry dissipating entirely.

"Do you believe this hallucination? This Castiel?"

He closes his eyes again, exhaustion clear on his face. "I'm just saying it turns out the thing that was my imaginary friend when I was a kid, when I watched my mother die under mysterious circumstances at best, is the thing that I'm being haunted by now, who's been telling me that I'm needed to stop the fucking Apocalypse."

Dean opens his eyes to look at her again. She closes her mouth and sits back, uncrossing her legs.

"Have you ever heard of Occam's Razor?"

Dean shakes his head, too tired to ask what the point of this is.

"It's a theory that you should stick to the least ridiculous reason for an outcome. In medicine, doctors try to get their residents to understand that the most probable diagnoses is usually the correct one. We don't need to come up with fantastical explanations for things."

He looks at her.

"In other words, when you hear hooves, think horses, not zebras."

She nods. 

"So if I'm not some soldier for God. If I'm not a weapon to keep the world from ending, it just means that I'm a fuck up who can't take care of his brother, who can't keep a job, who didn't graduate from high school. It means my dad left me and my brother alone for no fucking reason."

She's looking at him now, eyes full of sorrow. It's nothing compared to the pain in his.

"Doc, no offense, but wouldn't you rather want to think zebras if you were me?"

*

Sam comes back in when Dr. Mills leaves. She barely looks at him, and she'd been so kind the past few days Dean's been in and out of consciousness. 

Dread settles in his stomach.

Dean is asleep again, looking smaller than he's ever seemed to Sam. He reaches down and grabs a hand, pausing briefly to look at the deep red marks on his wrist from the restraints they'd had to use because he just wouldn't calm down.

He's called his dad a million times, and all he's gotten is his voicemail. Call Dean.

But Dean can barely help himself now.

Sam cries and cries and cries.

*

Dean wakes later to a dark room. Sam is bent over the bed, head by Dean's side, and obviously in an uneasy sleep.

Whatever sedative they'd given him has worked a little too well. He aches all over, and he wishes he'd been nicer to Dr. Mills.

He doesn't have many friends left.

All he can think about is what he should tell Sam. How will he keep him safe when he confronts Lucifer at the gates of Hell? When he doesn't come home?

He lies in a hospital bed in a state he's never left and places a hand on his brother's head as he breathes.

*

In the furthest reaches of the universe, Castiel hears a very soft voice say his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so I thought this would be a short thing, but it's turning into a monster. I'm going to try to update more regularly, but bear with me as my summer break is about to end.
> 
> Hope you love it so far!


	9. Chapter 9

Dean's angry.

Well, he's frustrated. Annoyed. So very tired. And, maybe underneath it all, in a place he doesn't want to touch, he's disappointed.

When Castiel took him back to that night, when Dean watched himself before all the sadness, so comfortable and happy and safe, he could feel how he felt then. A love he's never felt before, except for maybe with Sam, but even then it's deeper, like everything in him aches to be with Castiel, like his very soul exists within him.

He doesn't understand how he could feel it as a toddler. It's like every moment he's ever spent with the angel was felt under those wings. Things he hasn't even experienced, at least not yet. He's gone over it since he's been back, a grueling five days, and it still feels like he's there every time he thinks of it, and it's driving him crazy.

So the fact that he hasn't seen anything, or heard anything, or felt anything since he prayed to Castiel feels alarmingly like heartbreak.

John is still not back, and no one can get in touch with him. Sam walks on tiptoes, going to school and coming home immediately after, like he's afraid Dean will break again if he's not here.

Dr. Mills upped his dosage by several milligrams. Dean considers not taking it, but he doesn't want to worry Sam any more than he already has, and if he's being honest with himself, there's still the chance that it will keep him sane. The further he gets from seeing or hearing Castiel, the less sure he is about it all.

Like maybe this is all still a hallucination.

With the increase in medicine and his brief stay in the psych ward, Dean does feel surprisingly better, even if it feels like his heart is being crushed by Castiel's rejection. He's on a relatively normal schedule, sleeping and eating and even taking care of Sam again. With the Impala back, he's able to drive Sam to school most mornings, allowing the kid to sleep in.

He runs errands while Sam's at school. He drives the Impala around the newest town, familiar in a way all of Kansas is to him by now. He cooks dinner. He cleans. He lets Sam make him a salad and he even eats it. He does everything he can to ignore Castiel's silence, certain there must be some explanation. He tries not to worry about him, and he tries not to think that maybe he really is insane.

Sam comes home from school on Friday in a rush, obviously something heavy on his mind. Dean tries not to mention it, but they eat dinner in silence, and when Sam goes to bed at 8 with a book in his hand, Dean finally puts down the dishes he'd been cleaning and sits next to him.

He doesn't look up from his book, but he does shift slightly to give Dean more room.

"Tell me what's going on," Dean says. No preamble. They've never needed it. Sam has always confided in Dean, and for him to be upset and unwilling to come to Dean for comfort makes him ache.

It's like he's one big bruise right now, but thankfully, Sam finally turns his book over to hold his place and looks at him.

"You're feeling ok?"

Dean lifts the edges of his smile. "Better than ever."

Sam nods, glancing down and picking at the frayed bedspread. "I was worried about you."

Dean looks at him. Sam's face turns slightly red. "I mean, I've been worried about you, but that was scary. I had to call an ambulance. I know they cost a lot of money."

"Sammy," he says, placing a hand on his knee so he finally looks at him, "I'm sorry."

"You can't help it."

Dean moves his hand. "No, but it's not fair that you had to see that by yourself."

Sam nods. "I'm mad that Dad just left."

"Yeah, but you know how he is." Dean tries not to think that it's his fault.

"He's never left without telling us where he was going. Or at least saying goodbye." He looks at him. Dean holds his gaze. "How messed up is it that he just left right after you told him you're sick?" And then very quietly, "I hate him for that."

Dean shakes his head. "You can't hate him, Sammy. He probably has a good explanation."

"Then why can't we reach him now? Why'd he leave the car?"

"I don't know."

"He left us, Dean. You always give him the benefit of the doubt."

The solid anger on Sam's face hurts him. "He told me he was fine with the schizophrenia. It's part of the reason why we're still here and not hours away. He thought I should keep going to Dr. Mills. He wanted you to keep going to school."

Some of the fury on Sam's face ebbs slightly, but his jaw is still clenched. Dean sees him swallow before speaking. "It doesn't make it right that he just left. That he's not around when we need him most."

"We don't need him, Sam. It's always been the two of us."

"Yeah." Sam relaxes slightly, pulling his legs up into his chest and pushing back his hair.

"Why don't you tell me how school was this week. How's Jess?"

Sam barely smiles, but it's a smile all the same. "School was good. Jess is good." His small smile disappears when he mentions her name.

"What?"

"It's nothing." He closes his book and places it beside him before reaching up and attempting to turn off the light.

"It's not nothing." Dean catches his hand and Sam moves it back to his side. "What's wrong?"

He sighs. "It doesn't matter now."

"Try me."

They look at each other. Sam has gotten so much bigger while Dean spent the last year drowning in his head. He's almost as tall as he is. He's still skinny, but there's no denying he'll be a man soon. But that doesn't matter because he'll always be his little brother, and Dean knows just how to annoy him enough to get him to talk.

"Everyone in my grade is going on a camping trip this weekend."

"So?"

"So," and he looks embarrassed again, cheeks turning red, "Jess is going but so is every single guy in my grade."

Dean elbows him, sly smile on his face. "Are you jealous?"

He huffs. "Forget it." He rolls over with his back to Dean.

Dean tries not laugh. "No, man, I'm sorry. I'm sure it's fine. She likes you, right?"

Sam shrugs awkwardly where he's laying down before rolling over to face Dean. "We haven't really talked about it."

"What, so you're not exclusive?"

He shakes his head and finally sits up.

"Why didn't you tell me about the camping trip?"

"I brought home the permission slip last weekend, but," and he trails off.

"But I freaked out and no one could sign it."

He nods, looking like he regrets every motion.

Dean looks at him and then jumps off the bed. He pulls a duffel bag out of the closet and throws it at Sam. "Get dressed."

"What? Dean, no," but Dean's not having any of it. He throws a pair of jeans his way, pulling underwear and shirts out of Sam's drawer in the dresser.

"We can still make it. It's not like anyone's asleep yet."

Sam swallows, looking like he wants to argue, but doesn't. He just gets dressed and starts putting the clothes Dean threw at him in the bag. They're ready to go in five minutes, Sam looking more and more excited as he pulls the spare blanket out of the closet.

"Do you need anything else? A tent?" Dean asks as he pulls his keys and cell phone toward him.

"No, there are cabins on the campground."

"Alright, well, let's get to it."

Sam turns toward the door, eager to get to the car. Just as he goes to turn the handle, he faces Dean again. "What if...you know? And I'm not here?"

"Sammy, it's alright. I've been fine. I've got Dr. Mills' number. Nothing's happened since I got home. You go be a kid, ok? Just for the weekend. I can handle myself."

He looks like he wants to say something, but he turns to the door and opens it instead.

*

It's only an hour drive to the campsite. It takes another half an hour to get the very strict chaperones to let Sam stay, but Dean does his best smooth talking in years, and finally he's on his way back to the motel room for a weekend by himself.

He feels good. He finally got to meet Jess, and the curly haired blonde girl was so polite and _so_ excited that Sam showed up. The look on his brother's face when she threw her arms around him was worth the trip in and of itself.

He's got his best mix tape playing and is drumming his fingers along to the beat when he hears a soft whoosh beside him and looks over to see Castiel in the passenger seat.

"Son of a bitch," he yells as he swerves to right the Impala before they can go into a ditch. "Don't do that!"

"My apologies."

He breathes hard, focusing on the road. "Where have you been?"

"Heaven is in upheaval. The demons, they're trying to attack. It hasn't been easy."

Dean glances at him. He does look ruffled, hair messed up and trench coat dirty with several cuts in it.

"I came as soon as I could."

Dean focuses on the road, turning the volume down and trying to get his heartbeat back under control.

"Thanks," he mutters.

Castiel must sense his unease because he reaches over to barely graze his knuckle before replacing his hand in his lap. It does nothing to slow his heart.

"You have questions."

"I don't even know where to start."

"Well, I'll open the book for you. Ask anything."

Dean huffs a laugh, stealing a glance at the man beside him. He looks so normal, not at all like the thing he knew as a child. But he feels calmed by him for some reason, and all the anger and longing and doubt he felt earlier disappear as he tilts his head at Dean's smile.

"It's 'I'm an open book,' Cas."

Dean steals another glance, the man's curious expression so unbelievably adorable that it makes Dean's heart speed up again.

Castiel bites his bottom lip, hiding a smile, and Dean has to turn back to the road very quickly so that he can't notice the blush that's creeping up his neck.

"Then I'm an open book for you."

*

Castiel waits, letting Dean think it through. The truth is, Dean has been asking questions, but he's probably done it subconsciously. Since he prayed that first time in the hospital, Castiel is more in-tune to his thoughts. As soon as he thinks Castiel's name, the angel can hear him. Dean doesn't know that, of course, but there's no harm. It makes it easier to understand the man. For the first time in ages Dean isn't a mystery. Their bond is restored.

"What happens to Sam?"

Finally the question comes, and Castiel is not surprised that it's about Sam's well-being and not Dean's own.

And, of course, Castiel doesn't have an answer.

"I don't know."

Dean grunts, obviously displeased. "He's a kid, and our dad's gone. No one will take care of him."

Castiel is silent at that because it's the truth.

"I can't just leave him alone and go die. He'll be devastated. No one will look out for him. You have to know I can't just disappear without knowing he's taken care of."

"I understand very well how much you care for your brother."

Very quietly, so quiet that if Castiel couldn't read Dean so well he wouldn't be able to hear him, Dean says, "You're the one who placed him in my arms."

"Yes."

"My whole life I tried to figure out how I got him out. My dad was behind us. I was too short to pick him up. There was no explanation."

Castiel listens as he works through his thoughts. They are racing, but above all he can feel how his soul is reaching out toward him.

"You put him in my arms."

Castiel doesn't say anything. There's no need.

"The thing that was in Sam's room. It was a demon, right?"

"Yes."

"What did he want with him? What did he want with my mom?"

"His name is Azazel. There is still much we don't know. What we do know is that Azazel went to many different people and made a deal with them. He did them a very large favor in exchange for their soul in ten years' time. Also for access to their child's nursery when they became six months old."

"Sam was one of them."

"Yes. That's who you saw standing over your brother's crib the night Mary was killed."

"Well what deal did my mom make?" He grips the steering wheel tighter, and Castiel wants desperately to soothe the pain his soul is spewing, but he doesn't want to frighten Dean with glowing eyes. Not while driving.

"Your father and both of her parents were killed by Azazel. She made a deal to bring John back so that she didn't have to be a hunter anymore."

"What does that mean? She killed animals?"

"No. Your mother and grandparents were hunters of the supernatural. They sought out evil things and killed them. Ghosts, vampires, wendigos. They were actually quite remarkable in their success rate."

"Hold on. You're telling me that aside from you, aside from demons, all the things that go bump in the night are real, too?"

Castiel looks at him. His knuckles have gone white on the steering wheel, but all he can feel from his soul is desire. He _needs_ to know.

He smiles in spite of himself, and Dean notices. "What?"

"It's just," he turns to look at his profile as Dean takes the final street back to the motel, street lights flashing over his face. "In another life, I was the thing that you were convinced didn't exist."

Dean narrows his eyes. "What does that mean?"

Thankfully, they pull into the parking lot before Castiel has to answer.

Dean opens the door, but Castiel is already out of the car and standing by the motel room door before he can close it. He realizes too late that this might be a bit suggestive, but it's likely that Dean won't think it weird if Castiel stays. After all, they've spent the night together almost all of Dean's life, even if Dean didn't know it.

Dean does a double take as he pulls the motel key from his pocket. "How do you keep moving so fast?"

"I'm an angel, Dean. I have wings."

Dean looks dumbstruck but unlocks the door and lets both of them inside before saying anything. He grabs a beer from the fridge, tossing his keys on the table before turning to face Castiel. "The you when I was a kid, that thing had wings. You, my friend, don't have wings. What'd I say?" he snaps his fingers, "Oh, yeah! Tax accountant."

He takes a drink from the beer, and Castiel tries not to notice the long line of his throat as he swallows.

"It's nice to know that some things never change." Castiel remembers meeting Dean in a barn years from now, before all of this changed, and needing to prove to him that he was real in the same exact way.

Dean looks confused, but before he can say anything, a large bolt of lightning and crack of thunder fill their space. Castiel spreads his wings, allowing the shadow to fill up the back wall. 

Dean drops the beer bottle, mouth hung wide open.

Castiel pulls his wings back, pushes them downward with a little too much force, and then crosses the room to grab the beer before it hits the floor.

It's for show, of course, because no matter what state Dean's in he's apparently always going to show off for him, but he's misjudged how close he needed to be to grab the bottle and hand it to him.

He's inches from his face, and Dean has finally closed his mouth, only to gulp as their fingers brush while Castiel hands him the bottle.

"Thanks," he whispers.

Castiel doesn't take a step back, though he knows he's too close, and allows his grace to feel Dean's soul. It's on fire, pulsing through him and attempting to reach out to Castiel. It's longing in the strongest sense of the word, and Castiel can't help but allow the tip of his right wing to stroke Dean's cheek.

Dean closes his eyes at the contact, small breath escaping his lips. When he opens his eyes, it's quiet reserve he sees. Very carefully, he takes a step back, and then circles Castiel in order to sit on his unmade bed.

He clears his throat, and Castiel looks up from his spot in the kitchen. A safe distance away. "So you have wings."

"I do."

"That the thing that I feel tickling my cheek whenever I'm upset?"

He doesn't look angry, but Castiel is still embarrassed. He nods.

"You really been around a while."

"Your entire life."

Dean nods, taking that in, and takes another drink.

"Why didn't you tell me before? Why not show up years ago?"

"I've always been around in one form or another. You just might not have known it."

He can't tell him the whole truth. He can't come out and say that he quite literally fell for him and has killed for him and changed so many of Dean's details that he's almost an entirely different person than the one he was originally intended to be. He can't tell him that he's been there since before he was born. He can't tell him about Cassie. He can't tell him that his destiny is still to die and Castiel has done everything he can to change that. He has orders, and he must obey.

Dean swings his legs up onto the bed and leans back against the headboard. He takes another drink of the beer, almost finished with it, before looking hard at Castiel. "Show me."

"What?"

He doesn't move on the bed, and Castiel stays rooted to where he is.

"You showed me that night. I saw you. Show me all the times you've been around."

Castiel has practice with controlling vessels. He's used to being in control and Jimmy Novak's vessel is perfect for him, meaning he should have total use of it. Even still, he has a very difficult time not twitching at his words.

"What's the matter, Cas?" he asks sarcastically. Almost flirting, like he knows just what he's hiding.

Castiel hums at the nickname where Dean can't hear him. He turns his back on him instead of answering, grabs a beer, and then crosses the room a little too forcefully. He sits beside Dean, not caring about personal space when he can feel the way Dean's soul is thundering toward him right now. Still, he answers a little harsher than he means.

"I am an angel, Dean. I do not need to answer you. I don't need to explain myself."

He hands the beer to him, watching as Dean swallows before taking it. For a moment he just sits there, and then he narrows his eyes. Even though he doesn't move, Castiel feels his soul retreat inward, releasing the tug on Castiel's grace.

He sighs. As always, he relents. "There have been a few times." He quickly places fingers to his forehead and replays the shop teacher and the tow truck driver, but he won't show him Cassie.

Dean breathes out as the memories end.

"You should get ready for bed."

He stands, letting the man go through the memories again, until Dean finally tips the new beer back and gulps down almost half of it before disappearing into the bathroom with a new pair of boxers.

Castiel is still standing there when he returns, teeth brushed and bare chested. He doesn't look at him as he passes and then climbs into bed.

"You just gonna stand there all night?" he finally asks.

"I don't sleep."

Dean nods, then pushes himself lower into the bed, the sheet pulled up over him before meeting Castiel's eyes again. "It'd probably be more comfortable if you at least sat over there." He waves a hand toward the empty bed. He goes for nonchalance, but Castiel can feel the erratic way his heart beats as he says it.

He moves toward the other bed anyway. It's late, and Dean has been sleeping relatively well. He should be asleep by now, but there's something else he's holding back.

Finally, Castiel watches as he places a hand under his head. "Cas, you said my dad knows about all this stuff. Where is he? Why didn't he say anything to us?"

"He's spent his entire life trying to keep it all from you and Sam. Knowing that angels were contacting you, it just made him want to find Azazel more. He's been hunting him since it happened." He leaves out the part where he was found in Hell. "He got close to catching him recently, and he wanted to go back. He asked me to send him. I don't know why he left you the car."

Dean thinks for a moment, and then rolls over to face him on the opposite bed. "It's a gift."

Castiel nods, not really understanding, and watches as Dean yawns wide. "You should sleep."

"M'not tired," he mumbles as his eyes close. He's always been like this, and Castiel just allows a small smile before reaching up to turn the light off.

He waits until Dean's breathing has finally evened out before he crawls into the bed with Dean. His brothers are occupied with the invasion in Heaven. Surely no one will care. And he has been told to do anything he can to keep Dean from being spooked now that he knows his fate.

He wraps his arms around him, pressing his back to his front, and manifests his wings so that he can stroke Dean's cheek.

He hasn't done this for a long time, but the way Dean's soul presses hard into Castiel's hand where it's against his chest tells him that Dean hasn't forgotten either.

Of course, as soon as Dean stirs, all eight hours of restful sleep later, Castiel is back on his bed, like he never moved at all.


	10. Chapter 10

He's slept much later than usual, and it was a dreamless sleep, the first he's had in months.

Castiel is still in his spot on the next bed, pristine in dress and just staring at Dean.

"You like watching people sleep?" he asks groggily.

"I do find it endearing to see you peaceful," Cas concedes.

Dean sits up, pushing the covers off of him and scratching at his belly. "I get you're an angel, but surely you know that's kind of creepy."

Cas doesn't say anything, but he does get up from the bed and walk to the kitchen. He comes back with a full cup of coffee.

"You made coffee for me?" Dean asks as he takes it.

He just nods.

"Thanks." He sips it, watching as the angel stands there.

Finally, he takes the seat across from him and just waits as he finishes the cup.

"So," Dean says as he places the cup on the dresser, "what do we have to do to prepare for the Apocalypse?"

They face each other, knees almost touching in the narrow space between the two beds. Cas swallows. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I have to do something right? Learn how to fight. Gotta prepare if I'm gonna save the whole world."

"Dean," Cas starts. He does look sincere, but Dean knows there's something wrong. "Do you understand what it means for an angel to use a vessel?"

"No."

"You need permission. The person has to say yes in order for you to use them. Certain vessels are considered perfect. It's a bloodline. I can possess someone who is not apart of that bloodline for a short amount of time. The person can live within me, they can see what I see, I can even hear them if I want. But I have total control of him. Jimmy, he wanted to be used for God's will. He's still in there, but he can't talk or see or have control of his body unless I want him to. He's my perfect vessel. Most angels don't allow the person they posses to have any access to what they are seeing. They don't let them have any control. You are Michael's perfect vessel."

Dean swallows. "So you're saying I won't get any say in this?"

"You won't even know it's happening."

Dean leans back, pulling his legs up.

"So I'm just a puppet?"

"Dean-"

"No." It's quiet, but Castiel stops speaking. "You told me I'm needed for this big thing. You told me my dad left me because he wants to go after the thing that started this all. He wanted to protect me. You say you've been protecting me my whole life, and all because you just need my meat suit?"

Castiel is silent, and Dean is so angry.

"I don't know what you want me to say."

Dean scoffs, rolling his eyes, and finally standing to loom over him. "I want you to tell me what you and all those dicks who've kept me up the past year have told me! That I'm important because I'm going to save the world. Now you tell me I'm not even really apart of it?"

Castiel stands up to face him, and the tight fit between the beds draws them too close together. "You are important, Dean. There is no other human on Earth who can do what you will do."

They look at each other just a beat too long, and Dean feels his heart breaking all over again.

"I'm ok with dying. I'm ok with being destroyed and leaving my brother behind as long as it means that I save the world because of it. But I'll be dead long before that. I'm dead already."

He storms to his duffel bag and pulls on clothes, not looking at the angel.

He makes it to the door and turns to look at Cas. "I've been a shell of a person this year. I've put Sam through hell, and the worst part is that I _believed_ in you."

Dean makes sure he closes the door softly.

*

Castiel waits as long as he can before Dean's longing is unbearable. He finds him in a bar, several beers and a glass of whiskey deep. It explains why Castiel can feel him so well. The alcohol keeps him from being able to hide his emotions, why he was so flirty last night.

"Well look what the cat dragged in. I hear they hate birds."

Castiel sits on the stool beside Dean. "I'm not a bird."

"Might as well be." He drinks more of his whiskey.

Dean is being petulant. He's good at it, and it's indescribably annoying.

"You're upset, I understand, but there is no changing any of this."

He scoffs, practically pouring the drink down his throat before turning to him. "You're wrong."

"No, Dean, I've seen this play out in a million ways. It will happen."

"I won't say yes."

Castiel sighs. "We don't have time for this." He's sorry to do it, but he's given up hope that anything will change the future he's tried so hard to rearrange. He places his fingers to his forehead and then they are back in the motel room, Dean sitting on the bed and Castiel now standing over him.

He sways a little, shaking his head, and then looks up at him, eyes narrowed. "Someone could see you, you know."

"No one can see me. You, though, it looks like you walked out on your bill."

"Man, what is your problem?" Dean jumps up, unsteady on his feet, and gets right into Castiel's face. He looks immediately regretful of doing so, because now they're staring eye to eye and Castiel is not looking for a fight.

"The only problem here is you."

" _I'm_ the problem?" he scoffs. "I can't believe you!"

"Dean, you can't change your mind. There's nothing you can do to stop the Apocalypse. This is your destiny."

"Screw destiny."

Castiel takes a breath, looking at the anger on his face. "There is _nothing_ you can do."

Dean throws his hands up and walks away, leaning on the counter in the kitchen. "Cas," he whispers, finally turning around and looking at him. Castiel can feel his soul pulling toward him. It aches. "You watched me grow up. You kept me safe my whole life, and now you're just sending me into the biggest fight in the history of the world, and you don't expect me to want any say in it?"

"Don't you think I've tried?" he explodes, and finally Dean shrinks back. He should be afraid. "I have done everything I can possibly think of to save you, to change this, and I've never been successful. I rebelled against Heaven for you!" He lowers his voice, walking close to him, and Dean visibly swallows as his eyes widen. "You should show me some respect."

There's so much silence with the two of them so close together. Dean stares at him, and Castiel is ashamed at how he lost control, but he's too angry to move away or apologize.

Finally, Dean speaks. "Show me, Cas."

Castiel takes a step back, but Dean just moves forward, crowding him. "Show me everything. Damn it, Cas. Don't you think I deserve to know everything? I'm nothing. Three months ago I was just a crazy, paranoid high-school drop out. Now I'm the savior of the whole world with my own guardian angel. So show me. I deserve to know."

He considers it. It would be a simple finger press to the forehead and Dean would know everything. He would know about all attempts Castiel took to save him. He'd know about Cassie. There'd be no hiding his true feelings, no faking all the versions of Dean he's been, or the fact that his brother was once a big part of this, too. He'd see himself being pulled from Hell and all the fear he'd felt because of it. He'd see everything bad, but then he'd see the good, too. He weighs the risk and reward. Dean would see how Castiel feels, more than he would like, but he'd also know that there really is no way to change any of it.

Dean is just about to say something else when he just says, "Ok."

*

He's surprised it worked so easily. Dean might have mostly forgotten about Castiel for the majority of his life, but he's certain he doesn't give in easily. 

They're back on the bed. Cas had said it would be easier this way, and Dean's not so sure what he means by that or if he wants to find out.

They are facing each other. The double bed seems much smaller with the two of them. "Lie back," Cas says. He looks just as uncertain as Dean feels, but neither says anything. Dean just does what he says.

He leans over him, eyes intent and so focused it seems nothing could distract him. It's so intimate, the man close to his face and their bodies touching in a motel bed. Dean feels electric, almost painful, but he keeps his silence and stares up at him.

"This will be uncomfortable." Instead of just placing his two fingers to his forehead as usual, Cas cups the side of his face. Before he has a chance to remark on it, make some joke about needing to get a room when they already have one, he's struck with such an intense feeling he nearly doubles over.

When he looks up, he sees Castiel pulling an older version of himself out of what can only be described as Hell.

Castiel is surrounded by bright light, hundreds of angels and demons chasing him. His black wings are pushed back in flight, and there he is, body bruised and broken and being gently held by Cas in a bridal carry. Castiel has a hand gripped tight to his shoulder, obviously holding him dearly, and Dean can feel the intensity of the feelings from this moment so much that it hurts. But it can't be his feelings because the Dean Cas is carrying is unconscious. So the only explanation is that he's feeling what Cas felt.

Well. This is his memory.

Just as Castiel bursts free with Dean, the memory changes.

This time he's in a cemetery. It looks vaguely familiar, but he watches as Cas and Bobby and Dean try their hardest to get a much older Sam to talk to them. 

But it's not Sam. Dean can see his brother's face, but underneath there's a horrible creature, what Castiel must see when he looks at him.

He realizes with horror that this must be Lucifer. The instrument of Armaeggedan himself.

The other Dean, only with light shining incredibly bright within him, walks up to him. Bobby and Castiel try to take cover, but Lucifer snaps his fingers and they both explode.

Dean feels a sense of loss that topples him. Just as he watches the two brothers begin to fight, the memory changes again.

This time, Castiel is standing in a garden, only it's not a garden. It's the most beautiful place Dean has ever seen. There's no one around, and Cas just stands there and lifts his face to the sun. Dean can feel how at peace he is. He sees him smile, and suddenly Dean appears. There's no light this time, it must just be him instead of whatever thing was inside him in the last memory, and he grabs Cas' hand as he approaches. He pulls him into him, wrapping his wings around Dean until the other him leans in for a kiss.

Dean can almost feel the taste of Cas on his lips, and he can certainly feel how Cas must be feeling in this moment. His chest is on fire, warmth spreading through him in a way he's never felt before. He watches as the two pull back and smile at each other, Castiel's eyes flashing impossibly blue.

Dean can feel the memory change, and now he's standing in a waste land. Castiel is standing out in a large field, and Dean can feel a terrible loss in him. Sad isn't the word. He's grieving, but Dean can feel anger seething under him, too.

A large fireball ignites across the sky and the ground shakes. Dean watches as his other self emerges from that light and walks over to Cas.

They talk for a moment, but the words are not kind. Dean can feel how hard Cas is calling out to this other him, willing him to change and come back to him. He just laughs, then places his hand on his forehead and there's a blinding bright light as Cas falls to the ground.

It's only then that it hits him. No matter what outcome, he's still Michael.

He's pulled from the memory again, but this time he's back in the motel room, and Cas is still leaning over him.

"I've tried everything to keep this from happening. You've only seen the outcomes of my attempts. You think I don't care about you?" Dean looks into his eyes and sees the pain there. "That's just a few of the hundreds of times that I've tried to change your destiny, Dean. Nothing I do ever changes it."

"I'm sorry," he whispers. He's sorry for ever doubting him. For what he's gone through. For thinking that Dean was ever important enough to save.

"No. You don't understand yet, but you will."

Dean feels his hand tighten around his face, and then he is seeing his own life, not the ones of the alternate hims, flash before his eyes, only he feels it through Cas instead.

Things slow down in parts. He sees an afternoon with Castiel, them laughing and playing in a motel room when Dean is about six, and feels the joy Cas must feel with him.

He sees himself at 10. He remembers this for himself. He's icing his cheek, and now he can see Castiel as he strokes his cheek. Dean remembers how much pain he felt this night, both because of his hurt cheek and because of having John hit him in general, but Castiel's pain overwhelms him. He's reaching out to him, not just with his wings, but with some blue light that covers his whole body and some of Dean's.

Dean smiles at the touch, and Castiel finally eases some of the ache he's feeling. He smiles right back and wraps his wings around Dean.

The next moment he's at the water park he worked at when he was 15. He remembers this place because it was the happiest week of his life. He worked there the whole summer before they moved again, but this particular week stands out because of Cassie. So why is Cas bringing him here?

He sees himself walking over to the girl in the lifeguard chair. They talk, and when Dean turns her hand over and kisses it, he feels a pang of elation run through him and a burst of blue light run through her.

Cassie is Castiel.

The memories speed up. He watches them at lunch and swimming after hours. Then he's seeing himself drag her across the park, pulling her up the ladder to the big purple slide that always broke. He wraps his arms around her and feels Cas' body flutter at the feeling of being in Dean's arms rather than being the one to hold him.

They fly down the slide, Castiel's wings behind him so that they go impossibly fast, and then he sees himself pulling his face into his hands and kissing Cas. Only now he can see the lights from the transformer blowing, and he can feel the overwhelming moment when Cas realizes he's in love.

Dean is shaking as he watches it all. They flit through the next few years of Castiel watching over Dean in many different vessels, and then finally they are at the night of that party.

There Cassie is again, and this time Dean watches with the full knowledge that she is Castiel. They hold each other tight, and then Cas is leading him up the stairs and to an empty room. They undress slowly. Dean was so nervous in this moment, terrified of touching her wrong or hurting her, but now Dean can feel how scared Castiel was as well. He seems to float above it all, practically buzzing as Dean kisses his body. Dean can feel his barely contained control, can feel how close he is losing it all together. And all because of him.

Dean doesn't see the act. He doesn't need to. He felt how Cas felt, and he knows how he felt.

Instead of reliving it all, Cas plants him firmly in the crossfires of some war, and Dean watches as Castiel leads an army through what must be Heaven. He kills, and Dean feels the sorrow he felt then, but it's not enough to overcome the overwhelming need he feels to protect Dean.

And finally, when it's clear Cas isn't going to win, he watches as he's taken by a mean looking angel who forces him to face a Dean that surely can't be him. He kills a hundred copies of himself, until the longing and need and raw _love_ he feels is replaced with nothing. Duty. Loyalty. Only it's not for Dean.

It's only then that he wakes up gasping on the bed. Cas has backed away. He's no longer leaning over him, but Dean can read the guilt in his shoulders all the same.

Dean pants, drawing his breath in until he feels some semblance of control over his body. He wants to reach out and touch Cas, make him understand that he understands, but he can't.

“I couldn’t help that I fell for you. But I will no longer continue to fall for you. There’s too much riding on this for me to be weak.” He stops, turning his back. Dean can see him take a breath, shoulders straightening. He turns his head slightly.

"We are just Heaven's pawns, Dean. We have no control over fate. Even an angel can't change that."

Dean feels the soft wind as he spreads his wings, and then Castiel is gone.


	11. Chapter 11

Dr. Mills' office is quiet today. Dean's not talking, and she's waiting him out.

He picked Sam up Sunday afternoon. He'd drank most of Saturday after Cas disappeared, but he pulled himself together enough to look fine for Sam. He came home ecstatic from the camp out because he'd finally asked Jess to be his girlfriend and she'd said yes.

So Dean tries his very hardest not to rain on his parade. He promised he'd be ok for the weekend, and he's going to be ok.

"Dean," she finally cracks, "you're normally open to conversation, even when you were in the hospital. What's happened now to make you so quiet?"

He grunts, shrugging his shoulders. He won't look at her.

She leans forward, trying to catch her eyes. "Why don't we just talk about your brother, then? How is he? Tell me about him."

He finally looks up at her.

"You know, you're paying me for the hour. It's up to you whether or not you get your money's worth."

Yeah. Alright then. "He's fine. Just went on a weekend trip with his class. Asked a girl out and she said yes."

"That's nice for him. Is it his first girlfriend?"

"Yeah. She's nice, too. It's kind of adorable. They look at each other like they're in love. I mean, I know they're only 15, but it seems like they are."

"It's around the time you have your first love. What about you? When was your first love?"

"Uh, haven't had much luck in that department." She looks at him and his cheeks flush.

"No one you've dated?"

"We moved around too much. It was more me finding love on the streets to keep Sammy and I afloat."

"You sold your body?" It's not a judgement, but Dean feels himself warm anyway.

"Gotta do what you gotta do to make sure there's food on the table."

"Hmm. You care about Sam very much."

"Of course."

"So he went out of town for the whole weekend. How was being alone?"

"Fine."

"Dean," he looks at her because of the lilting voice, "we've been seeing each other for months. Tell me the truth."

She waits, but Dean does not want to go there. Finally she rubs her fingers against her thumb signifying money, and he laughs.

"I, uh, wasn't exactly alone."

"No?"

"No, but you're not going to like who was there."

She sits back. "Castiel."

"Yeah."

"What did you and Castiel do?"

"What, you're not gonna tell me it's all in my head?"

"The fact that you say that means you know it is."

Dean presses his lips into a thin line. "We just hung out."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. He told me more about the mission to save the world from the Apocalypse. I didn't like what he said. We got into a fight."

"Tell me about the fight. Why were you upset?"

"Doc, you know none of this matters. Why are you making me go through this when you don't even believe me?"

"It's real to you. I want to hear what you think."

He pauses. "He told me I was just going to be used by the angel Michael. That I basically have nothing to do with the fight, and I didn't like that. I yelled at him and then I went drinking."

"Dean, I don't need to tell you how dangerous it is to drink on your medication."

"Yeah, well, don't then."

"Ok. So you got into a fight, you went out. What happened next?"

"He found me at the bar, made me go back to the motel when I told him he's just a giant bird. Then he showed me how my destiny doesn't change no matter what happens. Kinda sucked, to be honest."

"Yeah? What do you mean? How do you know your destiny is set in stone?"

"I guess he's tried everything he can to change it. He's known me my whole life. He wanted to save me. Nothing's worked. All the outcomes are the same even if the story is slightly different. It's like a sad choose your own adventure book."

"Why did he try to change it if he's an angel and wants to save humanity?"

Dean must look embarrassed because Dr. Mills smiles. "Something happened between you two."

"What? No!"

"Dean, I've been doing this a long time. Tell me."

He huffs. Definitely red cheeks now. "I guess he kind of fell for me. I mean literally. He got expelled from Heaven because he rebelled, and he showed me all these times we were together. Like actually together."

"Does it bother you that Castiel-"

"Call him Cas."

"Ok. Does it bother you that Cas presents as a male and he showed you that you and he were involved?"

"Not really. I mean, I've been on the streets. Didn't exactly say no to anyone. And besides, yeah he's got male parts, but I don't think it matters. When I was still in high school he apparently came to me as a woman. This girl I knew named Cassie."

"It doesn't strike you as odd that her name was Cassie and you call him Cas?"

"Should it?"

"I think it is yet another way that your brain is trying to make sense of things it doesn't understand. You had an imaginary friend named Castiel as a child. Is it fair to say that Cassie was important to you?"

"She was my first love."

"Ah.” She smiles. “Ok, so Cassie played a crucial part in your development, as did your imaginary friend, and since you've presented with schizophrenic tendencies the only visual hallucination you've had is of this same Castiel who has apparently been around your entire life, including in Cassie."

"Yeah, so?"

"So, your brain is trying to make up for some big loss in your life, Dean. Whether it be your mother's death or your father's absence. You are trying to create a space where someone or something loves you. Someone who you feel has never left you.”

Dean considers that. "He showed up before my dad was gone."

"Your dad wasn't around when you first noticed symptoms. You'd been lonely and isolated except for your little brother, and it makes sense that you found a purpose for yourself and someone who cares for you outside of him. Someone who takes care of you rather than you being the one to care for others. It's no wonder your psychotic break came when your father disappeared completely."

"So you're saying Cas is just this made up thing I've had all my life so that someone loves me?"

"In the simplest terms, yes."

"Well, then you got something wrong."

She quirks an eyebrow up. "Oh? What's that?"

"The last thing he showed me before he left is that he doesn't love me. He's not willing to take care of me because he's a warrior for God. He's done rebelling for me."

*

The waiting room was empty when he got here, but now Jimmy Novak is sitting in the row by the back wall. He waves as the door closes behind him, and Dean is struck by the huge smile on his face. So unlike the Cas he knows.

He stands and walks over to him, holding out his hand. Dean takes it and Jimmy shakes.

"I haven't seen you in a while."

Dean stares at him, but there's no hint of Cas in there. "Yeah, I, uh, been busy I guess."

He nods. "You feeling better?"

"Yeah," he huffs a laugh, "much better."

They stand there, looking at each other. Jimmy finally tears his eyes away and looks at his watch. "My appointment is soon."

"Ok, yeah, yeah." He shuffles out the way, allowing Jimmy space to pass him.

He doesn't.

"Why don't we stop meeting by chance and start meeting on purpose?"

"Um-"

"I mean, do you like coffee? I'd have to drink decaf because of my meds, but you can have whatever you want. What about Sunshine over on Main? You heard of it?"

"Yeah, I've been there."

"Cool. Why don't we meet there today? I'm done here at 3." He winks at Dean and then passes him without looking back.

*

Dean's early. He drove the Impala over here after calling Sam's school to tell him he wasn't going to pick him up today, and now he's just walking around the block over and over until it's enough passed 3 that he doesn't seem too eager.

At 3:15 exactly, he doubles back to the coffee shop and sees Jimmy already sitting with a cup in the front window.

He looks exactly like Cas, so much like him, but he is not at all the same. Didn't Cas say you can let the vessel be in charge? Maybe he's doing that. 

Jimmy sees him outside, and if there was any chance of leaving before this got any weirder, it's gone now. That huge smile returns, and Dean feels his chest warm.

Here goes nothing.

He pushes the door open and walks over to the table.

"Hi," Jimmy says.

"Hey."

They stare at each other just a second too long, and then Jimmy gets up from his seat. "Let me buy you a coffee."

"Nah, no, it's ok. I can get it myself."

Jimmy places a hand on his arm briefly, and Dean looks down at it before he moves it away. "I invited you. It's my pleasure."

"Fine. Black coffee."

"Black coffee it is."

Jimmy disappears to the front counter, and Dean sits at the empty table. This is too weird. He's seen how much Cas loves him, how much he loved Cas before everything. He's given him an explanation for everything that's happened: why Dean's ill, why John's gone, why Cas looks like Jimmy.

He's explained everything, given him an out in his own fucked up mind. But now here's Jimmy, decidedly not Cas. He's an entirely different person.

Is it possible for a hallucination to be that thought out?

He comes back and places the cup of coffee in front of him. How funny that Jimmy is bringing him a cup of coffee like Cas did.

"So," he says as he sits down, "when did you start going to Dr. Mills?"

"Four months or so. You?"

"Ah. I've been seeing her a few years."

"Yeah? What do you think?"

"She's good. I like her. She doesn't put up with any crap."

Dean laughs. "No, she definitely does not."

Jimmy looks at him and then takes a sip of his drink. Dean studies him. Blue eyes, laugh lines. He's older than Dean, probably by several years, and he can see a tan line where a wedding ring once was. 

"So, what's your issue, Dean? Why do you see Dr. Mills?"

Dean narrows his eyes. "Aren't we supposed to keep that confidential?"

"I'm not Dr. Mills."

"No. I guess not."

He pauses, working something over, and then looks back up at him.

"I'm bipolar. Diagnosed seven years ago. My mood's always been iffy. I went through lots of ups and downs, and then I started hearing things. My ex-wife saw me put my hand in a pot of boiling water. She divorced me; I started counseling. Now I'm here." He shrugs, drinking from his cup again.

"I started hearing things about a year ago. Schizophrenia."

"Well, you're pretty young. Right age for that. How old are you?"

"20 in a few weeks. You?"

"29."

"You got married young then."

"Yeah. Amelia and I were high school sweethearts. It was easy to marry her. She wanted kids. I didn't. I started getting sick and she just couldn't take it anymore."

"It was easy to marry her? What, you didn't want to?"

Jimmy looks at him. "It was easier than admitting the alternative." He gives him a pointed look, glancing down at his lips, and Dean blushes.

"So," he clears his throat. "What about you? Any girl in the picture?"

"Uh, no."

"Guy?"

Dean laughs. "No to that either, but I'm not picky. I've just been too busy getting myself under control."

"I understand that."

"What about you?"

"What?"

"Do you have yourself under control?"

Jimmy sighs. "Most days, yes. But it took a lot of time to feel that way. Lots of different meds, doctors."

"What happens when you're not under control?"

Jimmy blushes, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. "Bipolar disorder. It's brutal. Used to be called manic depression, and let me tell you, it's exactly that. It's like I'm two different people when I have an episode. I go from not being able to get out of bed to feeling like I'm flying."

Dean looks at him. "Flying, huh?"

"Yeah, I know." He rolls his eyes. "So cliche. It's no picnic though."

They drink from their cups.

"How long have you been divorced?" Dean asks.

"About a year. Don't remember much about it, either. It's like the whole year disappeared with her when she left. Actually, I don't really remember much in the past few years. But that's common in manic episodes."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. She's happier. I'm doing ok." He winks. "Most days."

Dean huffs.

"What about you? What's your life like?" he asks.

"Uh, well. I have a younger brother named Sam. My parents are out of the picture. Mom's dead. Dad's always gone. It's just me and Sam."

Jimmy looks at him with the same concerned eyebrows Cas always has. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

He smiles, forehead smoothing out.

"Well, my cup's dry. Do you want to get out of here?"

"Where would we go?"

"Is it too much of a cliche for me to walk you home?"

Dean swallows. "There's not really a home."

"No?" He waits. Dean feels the blush creep back.

"Motel room. Staying between places right now."

"Yeah? Well, could I walk you back there?"

Dean looks at him. "My brother will be home soon. My car's here, and I gotta make dinner for him."

He smiles. "Ok, some other time then?"

"Yeah, I'd like that. Why don't I give you my number?"

Dean writes it on a napkin and slides it to him. Jimmy touches his hand as he does, and Dean feels a current run through him at the contact. Brief. Electric.

They stand. "I'll text you, ok?"

"Sounds good."

They go separate ways on the sidewalk. Dean gets halfway down the sidewalk before he looks back toward the cafe.

Jimmy's blue eyes are already looking at him.

They smile.

*

In Heaven, the demons have claimed part of the third realm. It's all the angels can do to keep them from claiming anything else.

Castiel must release his visage in Jimmy Novak in order to have all his powers at hand. They have lost so many already. He's needed.

It takes years in Heaven for the demons to finally be chased out, and they only retreat because John Winchester finally finds the Colt, and he finally finds Azazel. In all the other versions of this story, Dean is the one to kill Azazel.

For a moment Castiel has hope that he's finally done it. Dean, even in his brokenness, will finally be saved. His destiny is changed.

Until he learns that John was too late. Azazel had already freed Lilith.

It means nothing without Dean. He'll still end up in Hell. He'll still torture that first soul. He'll still break the seal. He's changed the details. There's no changing destiny.

Castiel finds Dean several months after Heaven is finally quiet. He's been gone almost a whole year, and nothing is the same.

He's gone back to work at Bobby Singer's garage. He's rented an apartment. He looks happy. He watches him from afar. No one has spoken to him since the raid in Heaven. He must think he's getting better. It's not fair that he has so little time left.

Castiel has checked his emotions. Years of battle have hardened him again with renewed purpose. His only purpose is to make sure Paradise comes. But he will always have a soft spot for Dean Winchester.

Most of the time, Dean ends up in Hell because he tries to save Sam. They're usually older, but the last time Castiel messed with fate, he sped up the timeline significantly. He actually doesn't know how Dean will end up in Hell this time. He's done nothing. He doesn't even know about Crossroads demons and barely knows about deals at all.

His superiors have kept their plan very much a secret. They still don't trust him.

He finds Jimmy Novak again. He's also doing better. Amelia is no longer in the picture, and he seems slightly off-kilter. He is not the same religious man Castiel appeared to many years ago. When Castiel appeals to him, he refuses. It's so rare for a vessel to refuse an angel after already hosting them.

Castiel follows him around. He goes to work, goes home. He goes to Dr. Mills' office habitually on the same day. It must be a leftover tick from when Castiel saw Dean there. There's a whole story inside of him in the instance Dean didn't accept Castiel. He was going to use Jimmy to get to him. The blue eyes always reminded Dean of his grace.

He watches until the day he sees them walk out of the office, hand in hand.

Dean ducks his head as Jimmy kisses his cheek. The same cheek that Castiel brushed over and over with his wing.

He shouldn't care. This is probably nothing more than his own residual grace calling to Dean. He can feel Dean's longing. But the rage he feels ignites a fury in him that no rationality can douse.

He's in Heaven before he knows he's unfurled his wings. He's in Naomi's office before he can even think.

"How does it happen?" he demands.

Naomi, Zachariah, and Raphael look at him. They know what he means. There's no hiding anything for angels. They look at each other. Finally, Naomi speaks.

"Dean Winchester has fallen for Jimmy Novak."

"No," he grits out.

"Yes," Raphael booms. "You know he has really fallen for you, he’s always fallen for you, but the part of your grace that is bound to Dean's soul is still inside him. Dean can tell no difference."

Zachariah picks up where Raphael left off. "There are only three things Dean Winchester is willing to die for."

Naomi's quiet, hard voice kicks in. "Sam Winchester is too young. He won't meet his fate for many more years. The difficulty in losing his brother and finding out about the supernatural will make him seek out Ruby. He'll again be misguided, killing Lilith, and he will again accept Lucifer under the ruse that he is saving Dean."

"John Winchester is already dead," Raphael says. "There's just one last thing that Dean loves."

Castiel looks between the three of them. Of course.

"Me."

Naomi nods. "Jimmy Novak will die. Don't worry, his soul will rest here. You will appear to Dean as your true vessel, make him understand that the only way to save Jimmy is to offer his life in exchange for his soul. The love he feels from your bonding will force him to seek out a demon and a deal. He will break the first seal. You will rescue him from Hell. He will accept Michael. We will succeed, as we have always been destined to do."

"No. No, I won't do it." Castiel backs away, lifting his wings, but the three of them hold up their hands, forcing them back down.

"You will."

Naomi comes forward with a syringe.


	12. Chapter 12

The apartment he rents isn't far from Jimmy's home. They spend almost all their time together anyway, especially now that Sam has a girlfriend and Jess' family is all too accommodating.

Neither of them have had any episodes in months. It's like they are healed completely.

Jimmy's a little strange, but Dean is drawn to him in a way he just doesn't understand and he's not willing to question. Sam likes him just fine, and Dean is happy. That's all that matters.

He does not worry about the tiny voice in the back of his head that says something is wrong.

*

Castiel's mission is simple: he will cause an accident which will kill Jimmy Novak. The Sword will accept Castiel's explanation that he can save him through a demon deal. Everything goes as planned.

He likes being in Heaven. He likes looking down at the humans. He likes being able to picture their pathetic world as a Paradise where the angels can roam free with their Father in their midst.

Just one hiccup stands in the way. That's what Naomi calls him. Everything feels a bit hazy before he learned of his mission, but he imagines all angels feel that way when they are needed from the higher management. The Lord works in mysterious ways.

*

Dean is in a dead sleep when he feels something watching him. He starts, looking around until his eyes land on Jimmy standing at the end of the bed.

"Come back to bed," he groggily whispers. He turns over then, smiling to himself. It's only then that he hears the breathing next to him, and then Jimmy wraps an arm tight around him.

Dean is wide awake.

"Who are you talking to?" Jimmy asks. He presses a kiss into his neck, and Dean looks back toward the now empty end of the bed.

"No one."

Jimmy presses in closer to him, breathing almost immediately evening out, the soft bursts of air hitting the back of Dean's neck. He used to feel so calm like this, but now he stares into the dark room and tries not to press himself into Jimmy's warmth.

Jimmy is the facsimile of everything he really wanted, and here he thought he'd done so well at pretending.

*

"Come on, Doc, I know it's all a fake. You don't need to tell me again."

Dr. Mills eyes him. "You and I both know that things can change."

"Yeah, but I'm stable. You said so yourself. Breaks don't happen unless there's a trigger. No trigger."

"Except you saw something last night."

"I don't know what I saw." He doesn't mean his voice to be so wavering.

She smiles tightly but not unkindly. "Dean, you've had an exceptional year. You came back from your psychological break better than you'd been since you first started experiencing symptoms. It's not uncommon for people to have long periods of no psychosis. But it's more common for hallucinations to continue to occur in otherwise calm periods, even those who were previously harmful to you."

"Cas was not harmful." This time he forces his voice to be harsh.

"He attempted to get you to participate in a war in which you would surely die. I say that's harmful."

"He was just following orders."

"Ah, yes. But someone just following orders can still hurt someone, right?"

Dean doesn't say anything to that.

"Why don't we talk about something else? How is your apartment? Tell me about Sam and your job."

He nods, crossing a leg and leaning back in the seat.

"Still good. Sam loves having our own place. He's doing so great in school, and he and Jess are still going strong."

"And your job?"

"Oh, yeah. Bobby's is great. I'm glad he let me go back. He was such a big help co-signing a lease for the apartment."

"You said he's like family. Why do you sound surprised that he would let you have your job back?"

Dean swallows. "I don't know."

"We've explored the idea that you won't accept that people care for you."

"Yeah, well, I'm not always sunshine and rainbows, am I?"

She looks at him. "We'll let that go for now." She reaches for a folder behind her and opens it, reading down a piece of paper before looking back at him. "What about your relationship? Jimmy?"

Dean feels himself smile. "It's good."

"Are things progressing?"

His smile fades. "What do you mean?"

"The last time we spoke you were unsure of a number of things. You were thinking that it was moving too fast. You've spent a lot of time together recently. How are you doing with that?"

He swallows, nodding. "Still a lot to think about, us being together."

"Because intimacy is a difficult thing for you to accept." She says it like a statement, not a question, and Dean hates how easy it is for her to read him. But he guesses it's her job to do so.

He blows out a breath."Yeah, but also because..." he fades out, not wanting to talk about this. She waits though. She always does.

He groans, putting his crossed leg on the floor and leaning forward to put his head in his hands. It's muffled when he starts talking, but that's better than having to face her head on. "Cas...he used Jimmy's body as his vessel. So all the hallucinations I've seen of Cas were with Jimmy's face."

She closes the folder a little too forcefully, staring at Dean incredulously. "You mean Castiel is Jimmy?"

He looks up, finally taking his head from his hands. "No. Just that Cas has to have a vessel in order for humans to see him. He used Jimmy."

"Dean," she starts, for the first time seeming to really not know what to say, "did you meet Jimmy before or after your hallucinations started?"

"Uh, I had seen a guy in a trench coat but never his face before I saw Jimmy."

"Hmm," she hums, looking him over.

"What?"

"Am I mistaken when I say that you started dating Jimmy around the same time your hallucinations stopped?"

"I guess so, yeah. Why does that matter?"

"It's just that, once again, a big relationship to you is somehow related to your hallucination. This angel should be the thing that saves you, yet yours is one that you said yourself is willing to put you at risk, use you, in order to save others."

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"Dean, you know that it's difficult for you to accept love. I thought I might help you understand that Castiel, all of it, the fact that you feel he's been in your life for as long as you can remember and that you feel he is connected to every single one of your loving relationships, is a way for you to inject someone into your life who has never left."

"But he did leave. I haven't had a hallucination in almost a year. He's gone."

She sighs. "Replaced with Jimmy. The person who looks exactly like Castiel."

"Does that matter?"

"You're having second thoughts about your relationship with Jimmy. You're stable. You have a home and a job. You should have a loving relationship, but you can't accept that things are going well with you. And it's crushing you that you feel Castiel has abandoned you."

He stares hard at her. "You trying to upset me?"

"Not at all. I just want you to be honest with me. And yourself."

"I'm being honest."

"So what did you see last night?"

He sighs, wiping a hand down his face. "I saw him."

"Castiel?"

"Yeah, I guess. I thought it was Jimmy just out of bed, but when I said come back to bed, Jimmy was already there. When I looked back up, he wasn't there."

"Why do you think you saw him for the first time in so long?"

"I don't know. I mean, he didn't even say anything to me."

She waits as Dean works it over.

"I mean, I guess I've been feeling strange lately. Like someone is watching me. It's just a feeling."

She nods. "Ok, so you've been feeling like you're being watched, and you haven't had any paranoia since he told you he didn't love you. You feel that he left you just when you started dating someone who looks just like him. Tell me how you feel about Jimmy now."

He shrugs. "I don't know. I guess... I guess it's just been a lot. We moved kind of fast."

"You're, what 21? You've got your schizophrenia under control. No one would fault you for being with someone."

"Yeah, but you said it yourself. My boyfriend looks like the angel I was in love with, who my destiny was bound to, and he wasn't even real. It's kind of fucked up. Plus I built a whole hallucination around him."

"You were in love with him?"

He swallows, cheeks heating. "I told you he showed me everything, right? How he'd tried to change my future so that I didn't need to be the Sword anymore? He showed me all these times we ended up together, too. It wasn't one sided."

"Are you clouting your relationship with Jimmy based on your feelings for Castiel?"

"I don't have feelings for him anymore."

She cocks her head to the side. "But you just saw him again after having a relatively good year."

"That doesn't mean I still have feelings for him. Just that something happened to make him show up again. What could it be?"

Dr. Mills narrows her eyes and leans back. "A stressor could be that you're feeling that you don't want to be with Jimmy anymore."

Dean scoffs. "I didn't say that."

She ignores him. "You feel that though Jimmy looks like the object of your desire, he is not actually the thing you desire. He's no Cas."

"Yeah, except that Jimmy has never told me I needed to die in order to save the world. And Jimmy is actually real."

"True. You and I both know this, Dean. But it still does nothing to change the fact that you don't want Jimmy."

He clenches his jaw. "So what do I do?"

She smiles at him. "You tell him. He deserves to know."

He nods, eyes down on the floor.

"I know we aren't really allowed to talk about other patients, but can you just tell me how he's doing?"

"Dean, I can't tell you that. Why don't you talk to him yourself?"

"I don't want to tell him I'm having a hallucination when he's been totally fine."

She nods. "I can understand that, but part of having a healthy relationship is being able to talk about important things like your health."

"Can't you just up my medication again?"

"No. You're maxed out on your milligrams. It's important that we make sure you can deal with issues when they come up without you automatically wanting to medicate."

He huffs out a laugh. "I'm good at that though."

She ignores him. "We're almost out of time. I want you to start doing something this week, though." She turns in her chair, searching for something on her desk before spinning back to him. She holds out a small composition book. "Take this. If you happen to see Cas again, I want you to write down exactly what you were doing before and after. How were you feeling beforehand. Anything you think is important."

He takes the notebook and tucks it under an arm as they both stand.

Dr. Mills leads him out of her office, holding the door for him to pass through. "I do think it's challenging to have a relationship with someone who is also experiencing a new mental illness. If you decide to keep this relationship up, we should discuss having joint sessions."

She stops in front of the door that leads to the waiting room, but before she can push the door open, Dean puts a hand on her arm. "Wait. You said new illness. Jimmy told me he's been diagnosed for years. He's seen you for years. What do you mean new?"

She frowns, eyes bouncing over his face. "Perhaps it's better if you discuss that with Jimmy."

"No. I want to discuss it with you. How long have you been seeing Jimmy?"

She sighs and pulls her arm from his hand. "He started coming to me around the same time as you. About a year or so."

He stares at her looking for all the answers to this odd turn of events. Why would Jimmy lie to him? She just pats him on a shoulder and turns on a heel rather than say anything further.

Dean pushes the door open. Jimmy isn't waiting today, which is good because Dean's in the mood to rip someone's face off.

*

When he gets to his apartment, Jimmy isn't there. He usually takes the rest of the afternoon off because of his appointment, but he skipped it today. Probably for good reason. He's got more than some explaining to do.

He drives to Jimmy's house, but he's not there either. His car isn't in his work's parking lot either, and Dean is too angry to be worried.

He goes to pick Sam up instead, which is probably a bad idea because he can immediately tell something is wrong. Instead of throwing his backpack in the back seat and climbing in, he goes around to the driver's side and leans down into the window.

"I'll just go study at Jess', ok?"

Dean grunts out a reply, barely listening as Sam calls a "be careful!" as he drives away.

The emergency stash of whiskey is in the same place it always is just in case John comes home. Dean pulls it from the cabinet for himself this time, not even bothering with a glass.

He's worked through half the bottle by the time the door to the apartment opens. Dean strides to the door before Jimmy can even turn to look at him. Dean practically throws him into the closed door.

Jimmy yelps, and Dean looks at him hard, but finally pulls back when he sees the blood on his face.

"What happened to you?" he asks, voice harder than he means it to be.

Jimmy just slumps against the door, eyes unfocused. He breathes out, "Dean," before he completely collapses.

Dean is on the floor next to him, shaking him, but it's no use. He won't wake up.

It's like he's instantly sober, leaning over Jimmy's body and cradling his face until he can't hold it in anymore. He sobs, head on his chest. He stays like that for too long, until he can hear the man under him take a breath that shouldn't be possible.

Dean leans up, staring at the eyes that are already open. He jumps back, scrambling on the floor until his back hits the opposite wall.

Jimmy just stands up, cracking his neck and looking at Dean. The blood on his face disappears in front of Dean's eyes, and he blinks to try and wake up from whatever nightmare he's in.

Finally, he speaks. "I missed you," he says, and Dean would recognize the gravel in that voice anywhere.

"Cas?"

The man just smiles, inching his way to Dean. He stands in front of him until finally leaning down to look him in the eye, hands gripping his knees like the first time he introduced himself.

"Destiny is here, Dean."

He shakes his head. "No. This is not real. This is a hallucination. I just need to call Dr. Mills and I'll be ok. I don't even know if I took my medicine." He tries to get up, but the hands anchor him to his spot.

"You're upset," he cocks his head to the side, looking at him with a blank face. "You know Jimmy is nothing in the grand scheme of things. His loss will do nothing."

Dean shoves at him, heart pounding. "You're not Cas. Stop it. Get off of me!" he explodes at him, pushing as hard as he can at the hands trapping him to his spot.

"You know, if you're so upset about Jimmy's death, there is something you can do. But I don't know why you would want to bother."

The nonchalance kills him. He grits out, "He's human, Cas! He's innocent!"

"Except he took what was mine."

Dean laughs incredulously. "Last I remember, you're the one who disappeared on me."

"Yes, and look how much good that did you. Jumped the next best thing immediately."

"Get off of me."

Instead, Castiel grips his jaw in his hand and lifts his face so that he has to look at him. His normally loving eyes are cold, calculating. Dean breathes out harshly before asking, "What happened to you?"

For a moment, Dean can see the Cas he knows flash in his eyes, but he shakes his head slightly, and the moment of weakness is gone.

Finally, he lets him go, standing and turning so that his back is to him.

"Dean, it may be possible for you to save Jimmy. He's innocent, yes. He did nothing to deserve any of this except for knowing you. You can make a deal. Bring him back. Save him."

He swallows, staring at the back of the thing he loves. "Doesn't that have consequences? My mom made a deal. Look what good it did her."

Cas turns, eyebrow raised. "She did it to save her family. To save her future. She did it so she wouldn't have to feel the guilt of getting everyone she knew killed. Can you live with that guilt?"

Dean lowers his gaze, heart hammering. His head is swimming. Dr. Mills had told him to just go with the hallucinations, that it was his brain trying to work things out for him, but she also told him to be careful when they tried to lead him down a path of hurting himself.

This isn't actually hurting anything, though, right? It's just a thing he has to do so that he gets Jimmy back, and the hallucination in Castiel goes away again. 

He looks back up, and Cas is already staring at him. "Ok. What do I need to do?"

He smiles but his eyes stay cold, and he reaches a hand down to pull Dean up. They end up too close to each other. Dean can smell him, can feel his warmth. He closes his eyes at the sensation, and he can feel the flutter of Cas' chest against his palm before he pushes Dean back from him.

"A crossroads. There are some things you need, but I took the liberty in getting them for you." He hands over a bag. "It's better if you don't ask."

Dean takes it, looking into the dirty plastic bag."What do I need to do?" he asks again. 

"I'll go with you. You just need to ask. Save Jimmy's life."

He swallows. "What do I give up in return?"

For a second, Dean sees a flash of the real Cas, but he schools his features quickly. "This is the start of your destiny, Dean. I told you there's no changing it."

"And if I refuse?"

"They'll find another way. And Jimmy Novak stays dead for no reason."

Dean narrows his eyes. "Cas? Who's they?"

The angel just looks at him, coming forward with his finger outstretched.

When he opens his eyes, they are in the middle of a dirt road. Dean stumbles, still not used to the feeling of flying, but Cas catches him.

Dean turns in his arms, staring at the man. "Who's they, Cas? Who is doing this?"

Cas drops his arms, dusting himself off. "Just bury it in the middle, Dean. The woman will appear. Tell her what you want, then kiss her. It should be easy for you."

"No. I'm not doing a damn thing until you tell me what's going on." He drops the bag, crossing his arms.

"Do you want him to stay dead? Can you live with yourself knowing that you killed someone for no reason?"

"I didn't do anything, Cas! You know it. Please, just tell me what's going on. Where have you been? What happened to you?"

He picks up the bag, thrusting it into Dean's arms. "I'm just following orders, Dean. Do what I tell you before someone doesn't ask nicely."

He huffs out a laugh, dropping the bag again. "You want this so badly, you kill me."

Cas takes a step back. "What? No." His blue eyes widen, and Dean steps into his space.

"Yes. You disappear for a year. You don't tell me what's going on. You come back saying Jimmy's dead. This isn't you, Cas."

His eyes harden. "This is me. I am a soldier, Dean. You are the Sword. We do not have a choice."

"No, Cas! I don't have a choice. You, though, you chose to leave. You chose to come back here. You chose to get Jimmy killed."

"You think I like this?" he explodes, looking much larger than his vessel really is. "You think I like being manipulated and controlled?" He snaps his mouth shut, seemingly saying more than he should, and looks confused. He turns his face to the side, looking at something Dean can't see. "No," he says, backing away from whatever invisible thing he's seeing. "You said I could do it. This is my job. I'm fine. You said you would trust me." Dean watches as he hunches over, grabbing at his head.

Dean is frozen, watching as Cas hurts in front of him. He can't do anything, and in the back of his mind he briefly thinks how odd it is that his hallucination is having a hallucination of his own.

Finally, he uprights himself, hard eyes retrained on Dean. "Take this," he grits out, making the bag on the ground fly into Dean's hands.

Dean catches it, the wind knocked out of him, but looks at Cas again. "Please, Cas. Stop."

He comes forward, forcing the bag into his chest harder, and Dean should be afraid. This Cas looks nothing like the one he loves. This one is a soldier who is only following orders. He remembers Dr. Mills words: _someone following orders can still hurt you_ and he looks at Cas, pleading him.

"This isn't you, Cas. Please, stop it." The bag is pressed harder against him, crushing him. He falls to his knees, looking up at him. Cas is right over him, and he finally relinquishes the hold on the bag, allowing Dean to breathe.

His eyes are unfocused, blue and lifeless, and Dean continues to beg. "Cas, this isn't you. You're being controlled by someone. You would never hurt me. You love me!" he swallows, trying desperately to make him see. "Please, Cas. You love me. I felt it." Cas leans down into his space, face inches from Dean's.

"Dig," he spits, and Dean just continues to ramble.

"Cas, you love me. I know you do." Cas gets closer. Dean can feel his breath on his face. They look at each other too long, and Dean thinks he sees a glimmer of the real Cas in his eyes, but instead he pulls his hand back and punches Dean.

Dean collapses, and Cas kicks him before pulling him back up by his shirt. "I said dig!" he practically screams.

Dean wraps his hands around his wrists, dizzy and in pain. He holds Cas against him. "Cas, you love me." He sees a hand pull back again. "And I..." the hand slows, and Cas looks at him. "I need you, Cas." The hand drops entirely.

"I need you," he repeats.

Cas looks at him, eyes confused. He falls to his knees and then reaches a hand out to cup Dean's face. He tries to pull away, but he feels a warmth run through him and then the pain is gone.

They look at each other, and Dean watches as Cas finally comes back to himself.

"Dean?" he asks, and Dean slumps in his grasp, wrapping his arms around him and holding on tightly.


	13. Chapter 13

Cas comes back to himself just in time. He's cupping Dean's face in one hand and the bag of items needed to summon the demon in the other.

They are staring too long at each other considering the others are waiting for Castiel to screw up again, but he can't tear his eyes away.

He can feel Naomi's presence, just waiting for him to fall for Dean Winchester yet again, for her to finally convince Zachariah that he should be killed.

He realizes his mistake. Dean is staring up at him with wide eyes, unsure of his next move. Cas' hand is still curled around his face, and he wishes he hadn't healed him so quickly.

He sees Naomi start to come forward, but Castiel turns quickly, hauling Dean up with him. "No!" he yells into the dark, stopping Naomi from approaching.

He turns to Dean again, eyes hopefully betraying his plans. And for all the hurt he's caused, Dean still looks at him with trust.

That is until Castiel pulls back and punches Dean in the stomach.

*

Dean crumples to the ground, clutching his middle. Cas falls with him, fingers digging into his arms. Dean tries to catch his breath, but a punch from an angel is no joke, and he just focuses on trying to pull in shallow breaths rather than the fact that Cas yet again betrayed him.

Cas turns his head to something in the dark, muttering something in a language Dean doesn't understand. Suddenly, three people appear from nothing. They hold themselves high and look at Dean with disgust. He recognizes the mean looking woman from one of his trips down Cas' memory lane. She approaches Cas, holding the dirty bag up.

"He needs to bury this. Call for the crossroads demon. Make sure he makes the deal."

Cas takes it, sitting back on his heels. Dean falls forward, still clutching at his stomach. "Cas," he grits out, turning his face to look up at him. He's never before looked so much like a creature. Something he barely recognizes.

Cas stands, not even glancing back down at Dean as he kicks him in the side, sending Dean sputtering into the gravel underneath him.

The other angels pat Cas on the back. Cas turns to look at one. "Zachariah, I understand my purpose. You should go get Heaven's army ready."

The man nods, but the woman speaks instead. "You've been trained well. Remember, you'll need to leave as soon as the demon appears. Jimmy Novak is returned, Dean Winchester finishes the last year of his life. We'll be ready by then."

Cas nods. "I understand."

She seems reluctant to leave, but Zachariah pulls her along. "He'll be fine, Naomi. We really must return to Heaven."

Dean watches as the three disappear as easily as they came. Almost instantly, Cas turns and crouches down next to him in the dirt.

"Are you hurt?" he asks, reaching a hand out to touch Dean. He flinches back.

"Don't you fucking touch me," he spits, moving to stand. He's hunched over, breath shallow. One of his ribs might be broken.

Cas stares at him wide-eyed, almost as innocent as he seemed the first time he saw him at the edge of his bed two years ago. But he's not he same person he was then, and, apparently, neither is Cas.

His eyes go hard again, and he grabs the bag off the ground before thrusting it at Dean. "We don't have a lot of time. Bury this. I'll do the rest."

Dean starts to protest, but Cas just spins around and walks away. He bends in the middle of the road, digging a small hole in the center of the two paths. He looks up as Dean tentatively steps forward.

"Why are you doing this?" he asks.

Cas shuts his eyes slowly before opening them, piercing blue eyes burning into Dean's. "I told you, we don't have a choice."

"Who were those angels, Cas? Are they the ones controlling you?" Dean still clutches at his side, and talking hurts almost too much. But Cas has been AWOL for too long to not have answers. And, yeah, he kicked him and hurt him, but he also saw the moment he came back to himself. The moment whatever spell he was under crumbled. So he can't help but push the matter.

Cas sighs before standing and dusting his hands off. He slowly approaches Dean, reaching for the bag.

"They are my superiors. Naomi is the one you saw force me to kill the versions of you. Zachariah serves the archangel Michael. Raphael is a... purist. He is also an archangel, and he wishes to see the Apocalypse happen so that Lucifer can be defeated once and for all."

Dean looks at him, eyes cast to the ground. He won't even look at Dean. "And what about you, Cas? What do you want?"

The angel turns, throwing the bag in the hole. "I want what I've always wanted, Dean." He looks at him finally, cold eyes warming slightly. Dean can't tell if this is just another trap. And why should he trust him? But this is Cas after all, and Dr. Mills did just say that he's the true object of his affection.

"I can't bury this. You have to be the one to call for the demon."

"What? No, I'm not going to summon a fucking demon." Dean backs up, but Cas just reaches a hand out to halt him. He grasps lightly at his wrist. Dean could easily pull away.

"Dean, please," he starts, "there is truly no other way. Call for the demon. Save Jimmy Novak. He didn't deserve to die."

He wrenches his arm out from Cas' hold. "And I do?"

Cas just stares at him.

Dean feels the guilt of putting his own life above someone else's, but he can't help himself. "I know you say that there's no way out of this. You've showed me over and over again all that you've done for me. Don't you think there's a reason for that? You've fought so hard to keep me from living out this destiny, even when you've watched it play out the same way over and over. What if the reason why those other dick angels are watching you so closely is because you're finally going to do it? They must be using you for something. You must not believe what they're preaching for you to keep rebelling."

Cas steps forward, crowding into his space a little too tightly, and reaches a hang around the back of his neck. Dean flinches, of course he does, but Cas' hold on his neck is strong.

"You have to do this, Dean." His voice is a whisper, and he presses his body closer. Dean feels his breath across his own lips, and he closes his eyes at the sensation. "Call the demon."

There is a jolt in his body as Cas steps impossibly closer. Dean can feel the hard lines of his body, a body he's gotten to know pretty well this year. He opens his eyes as the feeling of warmth dissipates, and he's left with a knowledge that he doesn't understand how he could have.

He steps back from Cas and turns to the shallow hole. He kicks the dirt over the bag, making sure to tamp down the soil so that everything is covered.

Cas looks at him, nodding slightly as Dean steps back to him. If it were anyone else, he would be too close.

They wait in the dark, the sounds of an owl hooting far off. Cas stands still, but Dean can feel the energy coming off of him. He can feel the trust he has for Dean. His own emotions ratchet up in a way he doesn't understand and hasn't felt since the last time Cas was with him. His heart beats harder, almost hurting. Cas turns his head to face Dean. He seems like he's going to say something, but just as he starts to speak, a noise startles him so that they both turn to look into the darkness.

Dean grabs his hand, holding tightly as a large man with red eyes walks closer to him. He is dressed in a well-tailored suit, his hands behind his back. He smiles as Cas holds Dean's hand tighter before releasing it to step forward.

The man's smile edges up even more, holding up his hands in a gesture that means no harm. Cas stops, body almost entirely in front of Dean. His red eyes flash and blink before turning to a normal color.

He brushes a hand down his jacket sleeve. "I know we haven't been properly introduced," he starts in a heavy accent, "but I figure we'll have time for formal introductions later. As for now, come with me."

The demon turns his back on them, walking into the dark. Cas glances back at Dean before speaking up. "We need a deal."

He turns, "I am aware, Castiel, but we need to go, less your angel buddies come back to see if you've succeeded."

"How do you know my name?"

The demon continues walking but calls behind him, "Oh, there's so much more I know than just your name. But all in due time. Now, hurry."

Castiel turns to face Dean again, a look of worry on his face. "Do you trust me?"

Dean looks at him, whole body aching from the damage he did. But what choice does he have? Besides, he does trust him. All of destiny has taught him he has to.

*

The demon, Crowley, takes them to what he calls a safe house but looks more like a mansion. Apparently the Scott lives in the lavish. Castiel has heard of him. He's the new King of Hell, but that doesn't explain why he answered the deal call and not a much lower level demon.

All of his experience tells him he shouldn't trust the demon, but he's got no one else to turn to. And Dean deserves someone who will finally take all the risks necessary to stop this madness once and for all. So if that means working with a demon, then so be it. Even if Dean doesn't know what he's risking.

Castiel saw the sigils on the way in, so he knows Naomi can't find them here. He should have thought of that at the motel, but the brainwashing has made his tactician skills lackluster.

Crowley leads them through the house, demon after demon flashing their dark eyes at him. Finally, they stop at a door upstairs. Crowley turns the handle and steps back to let them in. Dean enters first, flipping the light. Cas steps in just as Dean turns and lets out a low whistle.

"It's not much," Crowley shrugs.

"You kidding me?" Dean almost shouts. "This room is like the size of my whole apartment."

Dean's face is lit up as he turns back to face them. He looks at the two of them standing in front of him. For a second, Dean's face draws into a look of confusion, but it quickly dissipates when he starts laughing. It's a chuckle at first, but it quickly dissolves into a full body laugh, leaving him clutching at his side. It's clear he's still in pain, but he can't stop laughing.

Castiel reaches out to heal him, and it only increases Dean's fit.

Crowley scowls. "What's so funny?"

Dean manages to get himself under slight control, wiping at his eyes. "It's just, ha, I've got a literal angel and devil on my shoulder."

"I'm not the devil," Crowley says, but that only gets Dean laughing harder.

"Right, well, laugh all you bloody want, but angel boy here and I have work to do."

Castiel turns to the demon. "I didn't agree to that."

"You agreed the moment you rebelled against Heaven's orders again."

Dean stops laughing then. "Again?" he asks. His eyes dart over Cas's face.

"You didn't think I brought you here just to let you die?"

They stare at each other a beat too long, and Crowley clears his throat. "Yes, a regular love story. Let's go, Castiel."

"Wait, why can't you talk about this in front of me?"

Cas turns to Dean. "Crowley's right. Let us figure out a plan. We'll fill you in." He goes to leave, but Dean stops him again.

"Look, this is all just another hallucination, I might as well be around for it all. What's it gonna hurt?"

Crowley sighs. "Can we hurry this along? It's not like we're not waiting on the bloody Apocalypse!"

"Dean, I'll be right back."

"Yeah, Squirrel, make yourself at home."

Dean finally steps back, anger apparent on his face. He looks at Cas and finally throws his hands up. "Fine! Not like this is all real anyway."

Castiel wants to say something, but the matter at hand is too pressing.

*

Crowley leads him downstairs to an office with a large wooden desk. He pours himself a glass of dark liquor and takes a sip before gesturing for Castiel to sit.

He doesn't, and Crowley just sighs.

"What do you want?"

He takes another sip from the liquid before offering Cas the bottle. He shakes his head no. "Suit yourself." He replaces the bottle on the shelf behind him.

"You called me, if I remember."

"We were going to make a deal with a low level demon, not the King of Hell."

"Ah, yes. But you've got me. What deal would you like?"

Castiel doesn't say anything. He knows he shouldn't even be talking to him, but there's almost no other choice.

"Your winged minions wanted Dean Winchester to trade his life for someone else, right? So that he could end up in Hell and set forth the Apocalypse. Let Lucifer himself free so that the angels can destroy earth. Take it over for themselves. Am I correct so far?"

Castiel doesn't let his surprise show. "And why does the King of Hell want that to stop? There's no guarantee that we'll succeed. There could just be madness walking around, a lawless land."

"They. That they'll succeed. You chose your side as soon as you laid hands on Dean Winchester."

Castiel hums. "That still doesn't explain why you are helping us."

"Oh, believe me, I'm in this for myself, but I can't have Lucifer escaping. He'd dethrone me."

"So you're willing to help an angel over a title?"

"THE title, Castiel. I like the way things are. Your feathery family has tried seemingly forever to change this, and I know that you've tried your hardest to stop it all from happening and haven't succeeded."

Castiel looks at him.

"What if Dean never went to Hell? Would that stop it from starting in the first place?"

"'The one who starts it is the one who can finish it.' But if he never goes to Hell at all..."

Crowley smiles. "There are 600 seals and only 66 need to be broken. Lilith is already free, but if Dean Winchester is never in Hell, he can't be the one to end it, Sword be damned. And if Sam Winchester never knows, he can't be the one to kill Lilith."

"Stopping the release of Lucifer."

"Exactly."

He sits back in his chair. Could it really be that simple? In all the times he's tried before, Dean always ended up in Hell. There seemed no avoiding it. He hadn't even tried to keep him from it because he thought it futile. He's done so much to change his whole life, but this one detail could be what makes it stick.

"What do I need to do?"

Crowley smiles, teeth glinting. "I'm going to make you an offer you can't refuse."

*

Dean is asleep when he gets back to the room. He's sprawled face down on the bed in nothing but his boxers, and he's snoring. His pillow is wet from his hair and the shower he must have taken. Thankfully Crowley hadn't followed him back up. He doesn't want anyone to see this side of Dean.

Castiel strips himself of his trench coat and loosens his tie. He gently sits on the edge of the bed, careful not to wake him. Dean's out cold it seems, so he chances it by carding his fingers through his damp hair.

The man mumbles, moving under the pressure on his head, making Castiel jerk his hand back.

"Cas?" he mutters. Dean turns to look up at him, but he's already across the room.

*

"Cas?" he asks again. He's striding across the room, but his trench coat is already on the bed, and Dean can see from the light from the bathroom that his tie is loose.

He sits up and rubs at his eyes. "What did Crowley say?"

Cas presses his lips together. "We can talk about it tomorrow."

Dean scoots over on the bed to give Cas some room. "Sit down."

"No, Dean, I can just sit in the chair over there."

"You think I don't know when I'm woken up by someone touching me? Sit, Cas. It's fine."

Cas' embarrassment seems non-existent, but Dean knows he must be affected because his usual calm demeanor falters as he nearly falls off the bed sitting so far away.

Dean huffs out a laugh. "So you like watching me sleep."

It's not a question, merely an echo of a previous conversation. They've been flirting around this too long anyway. And truth be told, Dean has missed him. However not real he may be.

Cas regains his composure, far enough from Dean that he'd have to stand to touch him. Crowley apparently likes big beds.

Dean's aware that he's almost naked, but it doesn't bother him considering how often he and Jimmy have seen each other's bodies in the past year. But Cas doesn't know that.

"Hey, how close did you keep Jimmy? Like if you weren't in there but then you took over, do you have his memories?" It shouldn't freak him out, but Cas being able to remember everything that happened with Jimmy seems like a cheat. He's never had _Cas_ that way. Just his vessel.

He frowns across the bed. "Jimmy died. I don't have access to his memories."

Dean should be sadder, but it doesn't feel real with the exact replica of Jimmy sitting in the same bed as him.

"You don't seem upset. I know the two of you were...close." The words seem almost painful as Cas turns away again.

"Hard to be upset when none of this is real anyway."

That gets Cas to turn to him, and he finally moves across the bed. He sits next to him, knee touching. It lights a fire in Dean, but he presses closer.

"What do you think this is?"

Dean looks up at him in confusion. "I'm schizophrenic, right? Just another hallucination."

"You think all of this," Cas gestures around at the ornately decorated room, "is just a hyper specific hallucination."

"That's what Dr. Mills says."

Cas grunts. "What will it take for you to believe?" He leans forward, wrapping his hand around the back of his neck. Dean can't help but close his eyes. The slight fuzzy feeling he's had for the past few years dissipate, and he opens his eyes when Cas' hand slips lower. He skirts his fingers down his back before pulling away.

"How do you feel?"

Dean can't really put it into words, but he feels an overwhelming sense of holy shit, this is all really real. Instead of saying that though, he just says, "Like I'm me."

Cas smiles at that.

"What did you do?"

Cas sighs, and Dean can't help but glance down at his full, pursed lips. They're still sitting so close together. "It was a ploy to keep others from finding you. If you're crazy, anyone who doesn't know that you're the Sword will just assume you're crazy. I healed your crazy.”

"So you mean to say I've put Sammy through Hell just for these dicks' agenda?"

"I'm afraid so."

Dean blows out a breath.

"You've been a pawn for longer than you've been alive, Dean. So have I, I think. But now we really have a chance."

"What's different this time, Cas? And why even bother at all? Doesn't the Apocalypse end with all the feathery guys strumming harps? Why'd you want to give all that up just for some human?”

Cas' frown pulls his eyes downward as well as his lips, and he inches even closer to Dean on the bed. It creaks under his weight.

"I've showed you."

"No, you showed me you pulling me from Hell. You showed us together, and then me killing you, and then us not together. None of that explains why you're doing all this."

Cas sighs, his resolve almost gone. Dean knows he has him.

"We're bonded," he practically sighs.

"We're what?"

"Bonded. When I pulled you out of Hell, I had to rebuild you, including your soul. It took part of my grace to do so, the thing that ties me to Heaven as an angel. Part of your soul is in me, and part of my grace is in you."

Dean takes that in. "That's why you keep trying this crazy plan over and over?"

Cas nods. "It's why I can't stay away from you. Why Naomi's simulations have never worked. I always know the real you because my grace recognizes part of it's home."

Dean takes that in because it's too profound for him to really understand.

Cas shuffles back, knees no longer in contact. Dean feels the loss of heat instantly.

"You should sleep," he stands to turn off the bathroom light, but Dean grabs his hand. He lets go immediately, embarrassed at the clear implication, but it does cause Cas to stop.

He looks expectantly at him, and Dean feels his cheeks heat. "Just, uh" he rubs a hand across the back of his neck, "I'd really like it if I didn't sleep alone tonight. House full of demons, big bed, and all that." He lays down to show him he means it, clearly leaving enough room for Cas.

Instead of getting in the bed, Cas crosses the room to turn off the light. Dean feels his heart beat frantically at the rejection, and starts to turn away so Cas can't see the look of sheer disappointment on his face when he feels the bed dip next to him.

Cas settles in next to Dean, both of them on their backs as he pulls the covers up over them. The dude is still in his suit, but at least he kicked off his shoes and took the tie all the way off.

It's quiet for a moment, but Dean can't help himself. He rolls into Cas' warmth, forcing him onto his side. He pulls an arm around his torso, and pushes his back into Cas' front.

Even though Cas is stiff, the contact feels nice. Reminiscent of when he was young and the angel would let him fall asleep next to him. Something tells him they've done this before, and not just when Dean was a child, because Cas suddenly relaxes and pulls Dean bodily into him. His knees pull up into the back of Dean's, his hand splays out against his belly, and his face tucks into his shoulder.

He lets himself lay like this for a moment before he can't help himself.

"Hey, Cas?"

He doesn't answer, but there's no way he's asleep. He doesn't sleep.

"I know you know about me and Jimmy." Sure enough, a possessive hand pulls him tighter against him. He smiles. "Is your grace apart of all that? I just, he's not really my type. I mean, body, yeah, but personality? Never in a million years."

Cas hums against his neck. "Part of my grace was in Jimmy, yes. You were likely attracted to him because he reminded you of me. A grace/soul bond is unbreakable. Your soul sought out something that was already familiar to it."

"But it was really you that I wanted." It's a quiet admission, barely whispered, but Cas curls his arm impossibly tighter around Dean anyway.

"Yes," he breathes in his ear.

Dean is so comfortable and so tired from this insane day. He doesn't register falling asleep, but he does note the soft press of lips against his neck as he slips under.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've been patiently waiting for the next chapter, so I decided to reward you with some action.
> 
> I wanted this to be a shorter piece, but the idea is just too big right now, hence why it's taking me so long to update. Plus a job and all that.
> 
> Don't worry, I'll be back soon!

Castiel holds him tightly all through the night. The flurry of activity outside of the bedroom door has kept him alert, and his body is slightly tense, causing his shoulders to hurt. Dean is restless, too, and Castiel spends most of the night with grace pulsing through the both of them.

He’s warded the room well. On top of the warding that was already on the house, they are safe here, even with the number of demons right on the other side of the wall. Castiel wishes there was another way. He doesn’t want to trust a demon, let alone the King of Hell, but they really don’t have a choice. He’s never come across another angel who was willing to rebel with him. His brothers and sisters might be sympathetic, especially those who have spent time on Earth, but they are excited that their Father might return with the Apocalypse.

Dean stirs under him, his arms tightening and loosening as he gently wakes up. Castiel increases his grace strands to ease him awake. Dean’s been in and out of motel rooms his entire life, but he might not appreciate waking up in an entirely different place, with Castiel wrapped so tightly around him. They’ve never done that before. He has always resolutely been out of his grasp when Dean’s woken up.

But this is different. Dean had invited him to bed this time, and Castiel had been too weak to resist. _But no one’s been around to watch us, either,_ he thinks. They’re in a demon house, Naomi and Zachariah are preoccupied with Heaven, and there’s a chance that no one’s even noticed they’re gone.

His thoughts stop abruptly as Dean finally wakes up enough that he starts muttering something Castiel doesn’t understand. It sounds like gibberish. He’s trying to shift out of his arms to get him some coffee when he accidentally bumps against his thigh, and Dean moans.

Castiel freezes. Dean ruts up against him, breath almost frenzied. He’s still waking up. Castiel can feel his subconscious scratching under the surface, attempting to swim up. He should not be frozen like this. He knows what’s happening—he’s been around Dean enough to know what he’s like when he’s turned on, and he clearly remembers how Dean had moaned when Cassie had put a knee between his legs.

There’s no Jimmy Novak anymore to blame this on. Castiel wants Dean himself, all on his own, and here in this bed with all the safety warding and the hope that he might finally change Dean Winchester’s fate, he allows himself a tiny taste.

Dean has maneuvered himself so that he has his left leg between Castiel’s and he’s gently rocking himself against him. Castiel feels himself harden, and his wings are vibrating violently above them. They’ve expanded to cocoon the two of them. His wings have always been Dean’s favorite. Even if Dean can’t see them right now, he can feel the shifting of his feathers rustling and the air warm above him.

They’re panting now, and Castiel is also rocking against Dean. Dean’s in nothing but his boxers, and Castiel is still wearing his suit from last night. His skin is hot, and he’s worked his face against Castiel’s neck so that he’s panting and pressing his lips gently into him.

Castiel knows the exact moment Dean wakes up. His mind swims to the surface in a rush, and he jolts against Castiel hard enough that he lets out a moan, surprised at how good the friction feels. Dean freezes when he realizes what they’re doing. He lifts himself up so that they are looking at each other. Castiel can read his mind, a soft _oh God_ as he tries to pry himself away. He’s still too tired to really move quickly, and Castiel doesn’t think as he says, “don’t stop.”

Dean seems to think it over as his elbows slowly lower back down. They’re so close to each other, and Castiel’s wings are vibrating so much above him that Dean looks up.  
He still hasn’t moved, but there are no more thoughts running through his head. Slowly, Castiel lowers a wing to Dean’s cheek and strokes across it. He’s flushed, and the heat permeates the feathers. Castiel finally hears Dean’s soft _fuck it_ right before he leans down and kisses him.

Dean is on top of him fully now, and Castiel tightens his hold around his torso. Dean ruts into him, dragging a hand to pull up his shirt, and he lets out a frustrated groan at the feeling of the undershirt rather than his skin. Castiel drags a hand down his bare back and cups a cheek, pushing him harder into him. Even with the clothing, the friction is almost more than he can take. It doesn’t help that Castiel can hear his thoughts on top of his quiet moaning, his rough “uh, uh” followed by a softer thought of “ _I’ve been waiting years for this_.”

Dean’s got the shirt pulled up all the way now, and he’s working a hand into Castiel’s pants, roughly yanking down the zipper and attempting to get through the fabric of his white boxers when Castiel hears his errant thought of “ _I don’t deserve him_.”

Castiel’s hips stutter, and he digs the fingers cupping his ass roughly into him, causing Dean to let out a moan. He stops thinking, and Castiel is content to listen to his audible grunts and pants as he slowly ratchets closer to an orgasm.

His wings are shaking now. They’re leaking oil, soaking through the feathers and letting out a smell of musk and leather and pine, and Dean must surely smell it because he keeps gasping upward, trying to drag as much of the scent in as he can.

He finally gets a hand through the boxers, and Castiel’s wings shoot outward as his cooler hand fists him. He jerks roughly once, and Castiel can’t help it as he says, “You do deserve me. You, _ahh_ , you deserve everything.” And then he’s coming, pulsing against Dean’s hot hand and unable to stop his hips from bucking up into Dean’s. 

A moment later and Dean’s coming, too, mouth buried into Castiel’s neck so that he can absorb the sounds he’s making. His boxers are wet, and he’s still got a hand around Castiel’s length, gently stroking his cockhead as Castiel attempts to get control of himself.

They lay there, Dean’s mind quiet as he catches his breath. Castiel just holds him, unsure if this was what Dean really wanted.

Finally he seems to come back to himself, and his very first thought is, _he can read my mind_.

“Yes, I can,” Castiel answers.

Dean looks at him, green eyes wide. It’s the closest he’s ever come to looking afraid of Castiel, even when he’d been standing over him just last night, kicking him.

He smiles. “I can turn it off.”

Dean shakes his head. “No. No, it’s ok. Might come in handy.” He smiles shyly, remembering what they’ve done. He presses lightly at Castiel in order to shift off of him, but Castiel moves him so that he’s laying down. He stands, still too blissed out to fix his clothing.

They stare at each other, and Dean looks happy for a fleeting moment, an actual smile on his face, just beaming up at Castiel from his spot on the bed as he had when he was a child, before it vanishes.

Castiel knows the thought before he says it, and he’s already inching back toward Dean, fingers outstretched, when he whispers, “Sammy.”

*

They can’t go anywhere, though. The warding is to keep out angels, which means Castiel can’t leave either. He does manage to get Dean to stop pacing long enough to clean him off. He stumbles forward a little so that Castiel has to catch him, and then he looks up and down at the two of them clean as a whistle. _Like nothing happened,_ is Dean’s thought, sadly.

“I should get dressed,” he says instead. He stands fully on his own and moves quickly to the bathroom. He comes out a moment later clothed, and Castiel leads him to the doorway so that they can get back to the apartment.

Dean pauses at the door though. He seems almost reluctant to leave. He turns to face the bed, still mussed up in a way that screams sex, and Castiel understands.

“It won’t be the last time,” Castiel shyly offers. Dean turns to him, smiles, and then inches forward so that their lips touch. It’s a short kiss, chaste, but Castiel melts into it. He brings a hand to the back of Dean’s neck then and almost has his fingers on him, ready to scritch him gently, when Dean pulls back and Castiel lets his hand drop.

“We should go,” Dean says. He turns and pulls the door open, and Castiel can do nothing but follow behind him.

*

Dean is wildly unprepared for the scene outside the door. He didn’t exactly think it was all a dream or a hallucination—no, he’d woken up with a clear head for the first time in years—but he’s still getting used to the idea that this is all really real. Angels. God. A Sword. And people with black eyes blinking at him. 

He shrinks back, right into Cas, but the demons pay them no attention. Cas’ hands go to his biceps, and he squeezes lightly. The lingering smell of pine and leather permeates the air. Dean turns his head toward him, and the smell gets stronger. 

They stare at each other just a beat too long, and Dean has to swallow and move away. He should apologize for this morning. He shouldn’t have come on to him like that. But he’s woken up dozens and dozens of times next to Jimmy, and he supposes his body doesn’t know the difference. 

“Ah, good morning love birds,” Crowley says, coming up the stairs. “I trust the accommodations were up to snuff?”

Dean moves further to the side, putting some distance between the three of them. 

“They were great, thank you,” Cas answers. “But we need to leave.” He grasps Dean by the wrist to lead him past, but they don’t get far. 

“Wait,” Crowley says. “I know you need to get to your precious baby brother, but we need to talk about protection.” He raises an eyebrow, and Dean seriously does not like this guy. 

“I have my angel blade,” is Cas’ reply. 

Crowley laughs, and then he shakes his head. “You’re a fugitive now, Castiel. You need more than one weapon.”

Crowley leads them downstairs to a room just off the main living room. He shuts the door behind them. The room is dim, but Dean can make out a chair with a metal table next to it. 

Cas walks up next to it, looking down at the items on the table before looking back at the demon. “Protection, huh?”

“You know it’s necessary.”

Cas nods before beckoning Dean over. The table holds several needles, a couple of canisters of some liquid, and a roll of tissues next to bandages. 

“Dean,” Cas starts quietly, “there are things we can do to keep angels from finding you and—” here he looks pointedly at Crowley— “and demons from possessing you.”

Dean is quiet, looking over the things on the table. Finally, he looks up at Cas, eyes searching, before he nods almost imperceptibly.

Crowley comes forward then. He picks up a needle and loads it in to the base.

“I think a basic black will compliment you well, don’t you?” Dean just stares at him. He doesn’t want this guy, this _demon_ to tattoo him, but Cas looks like there’s really no other choice. 

Crowley reaches to attempt to remove Dean’s shirt, but Cas comes forward quickly, slapping his hand away. 

He laughs. “Don’t worry, feather boy, I won’t hurt your cargo. If I do recall, in another life I even sacrifice myself for him, yes?”

“That’s not this life,” Cas grits out. Dean looks at the two of them, and then he removes his own shirt, quickly pulling it over his head and then sitting back in the chair.

Crowley gets to work, Castiel watching over his shoulder the entire time. He speaks up every now and then to remark on drawing a straighter line, or speaks in another language before Crowley draws some sort of new symbol, looking absolutely annoyed that Cas thought of it and not him.

It takes all of ten minutes for Dean to be marked with two separate tattoos, one on his chest and the other on his left side, and then Castiel is bandaging him up, taking care to gently tape over the tattoos.

Crowley steps back and looks at Cas. “What do you think?”

His lips turn down for a moment, and then he quietly says, “I can’t sense him.” 

The thought seems to leave a bad taste in his mouth, but Crowley soon laughs and says, “And there’s no way I can enter him.” He turns to look at Dean then. “Sorry, looks like you’ll have to stick to your divine host. Or stick it to your divine host. Ha.”

Cas scowls further before dragging Dean out of the chair. He thrusts the shirt at him, and then he drags Dean out of the room, through the living room, and out into the bright morning.

Crowley trails behind them, snickering at Castiel’s clear embarrassment. “Wait, wait,” he calls. “I was just having a bit of fun, you see. Don’t get your panties in a wad.” Cas throws a dark look behind him, but he does not let go of Dean.

“Slow down, Wings, I’m coming with you.” At that, Castiel finally turns, letting go of Dean after he safely has him behind him.

“What? You thought you could just go save the day without me? We’re a team. Whether you like it or not.”

Dean looks between the two of them. “Is Sam in danger?” he asks.

Crowley scoffs. “Not from my kind, no, but your boyfriend here is a different story.”

Castiel narrows his eyes. “Now that we are missing, it’s possible my superiors will come looking for us. When they don’t find us…” he trails off.

“They’ll come for Sammy,” Dean finishes. Cas can only nod.

“We have to go!” he shouts. “Cas, we gotta,” he swallows, “he has to be ok. Let’s go!”

“We’re going,” Cas says, and then he sticks out two fingers to Dean’s forehead, and everything goes dark.

*

Sam wakes to an empty apartment. Normally Dean says something if he’s going to stay the night at Jimmy’s. But he’d been so weird when he came to pick him up at school yesterday, and Sam had been too preoccupied with Jess to really pay attention.

Now he wish he’d had.

He checks the apartment over again. No one.

He calls Dean’s cell and there’s no answer. Twice. He calls Jimmy, too, but his phone is off. He even calls dad, just to see if maybe he’d come back and he’d somehow missed a father/son breakfast. No answer. The Impala is still in the parking lot, and then Sam panics. There’s no way Dean leaves the car. Just like their dad, he’s too attached.

There’s only one other person to call.

Dr. Mills answers on the second ring. “Sam?” she asks, voice still groggy.

“Hi, Dr. Mills,” he starts, trying to hide the shake in his voice. “Have you seen Dean?”

There’s the sound of rustling and a door opening, and then Dr. Mills says the worst possible thing: “I haven’t heard from since his appointment yesterday. What’s going on?”

The shake is there now. There’s no hiding it. “He didn’t come home last night. I called him and Jimmy and no one answered. And, _oh no_ , and he came to pick me up from school yesterday upset, and I just told him to go home. This is my fault, I should have kno—”

“Sam,” she says sharply, “stop. This is absolutely not your fault. Give me 10 minutes. I’ll be there soon.”

She hangs up before Sam can protest.

*

Dean has no idea how Castiel and Crowley decide to not just go swooping into their apartment, scaring Sam to death, but he’s thankful they don’t. They land on the outside of the apartment instead, and Dean even has to unlock the doorknob in order to get in. He’s struck by how absolutely normal it all is, but then Sam is sitting numbly on the couch, staring up at Dean with tears in his eyes, and Dean is jolted back to reality. The real reality, not hallucination-land.

“Dean,” he breathes, and then he’s up on his feet, sprinting toward him. He wraps his arms around him, squeezing so hard that Dean almost can’t breathe. He’s struck then by how grown up Sam is; he’s taller than him and his shoulders are broad under his hands. They haven’t had much occasion to hug recently, and Dean wishes suddenly that he’d hugged his little brother more now. He’s grown up on him.

Sam pulls back as Crowley and Castiel come through the door finally, Crowley with a gruff, “touching,” that makes Dean grit his teeth.

“Jimmy?” Sam asks. “Who’s this? What’s going on?”

Cas looks at Dean then, and Dean can’t help but let his face fall.

“Sammy,” he says as he pulls back to look at him. “There’s some stuff I’ve gotta tell you.”

*

Dr. Mills comes through the door at exactly the wrong moment. Sam is sitting on the couch with his head in his hands, Dean and Castiel standing over him trying to make him understand what’s going on while Crowley sits in a chair in the corner, rolling his eyes every so often.

“What’s this?” she asks, softly closing the door behind her. “Dean. Jimmy. I’m glad you’re here.” She has her professional voice on, and Dean finds he’s happy to see her.

Even if it only lasts for a moment.

“Dr. Mills, I’m ok. You can leave.”

She shakes her head. “Sam called the emergency number. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“I can get rid of her,” Crowley pipes up from his seat in the corner. 

Dean turns and glares at him.

Sam looks up from his spot on the couch. “Dr. Mills, Dean was going to tell me something.” He says it cautiously, like they’ve had practice speaking in a way that doesn’t spook him, and Dean realizes that they have. He’d just been too foggy to see it.

“I really don’t think she should be here for this,” Castiel whispers. 

Dr. Mills looks at him in surprise. “Why are you talking like that?”

Cas squints his eyes at her, and Dean’s mouth opens and shuts, trying to find a way to get her to leave.

“This is my voice,” Cas says in confusion.

Crowley finally stands up. He rolls his eyes once more before he says, “This is taking too long.” He snaps his fingers, and then Sam and Dr. Mills are slumped on their sides, Castiel catching Dr. Mills before she falls.

“What did you do?” Dean yells as he checks Sam’s pulse.

“Oh, relax, Squirrel. They’re just ready for Castiel here to skip all the small talk and implant the memories they need.”

Dean gapes at him, and Crowley shifts under the stare. “It will be faster. And I figured your baby brother Moose might need a tattoo or two as well. What are we going to do, hold him down?”

Cas mouths a, “he’s right,” at Dean, and he reluctantly nods. He moves Dr. Mills so that she's on the floor, leaned up on the couch closer to Sam, and then he crouches down and puts a hand on their foreheads. Dean watches as Sam’s eyebrows knit together.

“Are you hurting him?” he asks.

“No. I’m just showing them everything.”

“Like you did for me?”

Cas nods.

Dean sits back at that. He trusts him. It hadn’t hurt when Cas had shown him everything, and he’d been awake. Surely they can’t feel anything while asleep.

A moment later, and Dr. Mills stirs on the floor. She sits up groggily, holding her head. She looks around for a moment, and then her eyes widen as she looks at Castiel crouching over her. “Y-y-you,” she stutters. She looks at Dean then. “It’s real?” she says. “It’s all real?”

Dean nods, still holding Sam’s head in his hands. He’s stirring, too, and then he sits up and Castiel stands back.

The four of them just look at each other for a moment, Sam and Dr. Mills in disbelief.

“I thought we weren’t going to tell Sam,” Castiel looks at Crowley then, anger clear in his eyes.

“We had no choice,” Crowley says. “There’s no harm in him knowing, and I’m sure you left out,” he looks at Dean, “certain unpleasantries.”

Castiel shrugs, and Dean hates that there’s something he’s holding back.

Dr. Mills sits next to Dean then. It looks like she’s in shock. Sam doesn’t look like he’s faring much better.

“Sammy,” Dean finally says. “I couldn’t tell you. I didn’t really know myself until last night actually. I thought it was all a hallucination. I thought I really did have schizophrenia.”

“But. How?” He looks at Cas then. “You’re Jimmy. You’re my brother’s boyfriend. I’ve met you. You’ve never acted anything like this before.”

“Jimmy is my vessel. He was his own person, yes. But I have a different personality than him.”

“Was?” Sam asks. Dean wishes he’d shown him everything.

He swallows, holding Castiel’s wrist to keep him from speaking, but before he can say anything, Crowley speaks up again.

“I hate to interrupt, but we should really get going. Some of us are not as protected as others.”

Dean looks at Castiel again, and he has that uncanny ability to know his exact thoughts, because he touches Dr. Mills and Sam again, and this time they are in pain.

Sam screams, but Castiel doesn’t let go. He gives Dean a sympathetic look, but he holds him back as he clutches at them tighter. Finally, Sam and Dr. Mills panting, he lets go. 

“What did you do to me?” Dr. Mills gasps out. 

“He saved your life, love,” Crowley replies. 

“Angels can find you. I don’t really get it yet, but we need to hide, and I’m not talking just not leave our apartment. The tattoos keep us from being found.” Dean lowers the collar of his shirt to reveal the anti-possession, pulling the bandage gingerly up and wincing as the tape pulls at the skin.

“Yours is carved into your ribs. I’m sorry. I felt it necessary. It will buy us some time.” Cas looks contrite, even offering Dr. Mills an arm to hold her steady.

Sam and Dr. Mills sit on the couch, dazed. 

“What did you show them?” Dean asks. 

“Just the basics. Just enough for them to understand.”

Sam looks up at Dean. “You don’t have schizophrenia? There’s nothing wrong with you.”

Dean just nods despite that not being the exact answer. 

“And dad? He’s in on this.”

At that Dean looks at Cas again. He licks his lips before speaking. “He is. But I don’t know how much.”

Castiel gestures for Dean to sit, too, and then he produces a thick black book from his trench coat. 

“I can help with that. This was John’s. He asked that I give it to you. To help you understand.”

Dean takes it and flips through it, Sam looking over his shoulder. And then it dawns on him what Cas said.

“Was?” he whispers, a sad echo of Sam not moments ago. He looks up at Cas again, and now Dean can’t keep himself from all the worry. He feels like he’s hyperventilating. He can’t _breathe_ , he’s suddenly so hot, and there’s not enough air in the room. But then there’s Cas, a hand subtly on his wrist, and a warmth pulsing through him that shouldn’t be possible, and he’s feeling much better now. Calm, even.

Dean turns back to the journal.

It’s his dad’s handwriting, definitely, and it’s full of drawings of creatures and symbols and maps and cut out newspaper clippings. It would take them hours to go through it all. Dean flips through pages and pages until he finally gets to a blank page that’s folded over. He unfolds it, and there’s a picture of the four of them, Sammy still so tiny and Dean beaming up at the camera. 

Sam reaches out to touch it, but he pauses with his fingers outstretched. Like he’s afraid it will disintegrate. 

“Is that your mother?” Dr. Mills asks. Dean can only nod. He flips the picture over. _1983_ , it says, _a happy family._

It’s not dad’s handwriting. The loops and neat lettering mean it has to be his mom’s. This time Sam’s fingers do brush over the writing.

Castiel looks down at him just as Dean is looking up, and he sees the way his eyes betray the hurt and fierceness he must feel, the way he’s done everything to keep Dean safe all these years. He can’t help but thinking, _I don’t deserve you_ yet again, and then Cas just smiles at him sadly, and Dean remembers that he knows what he’s thinking.

Dean clears his throat. “So where can we go that’s safe?”

Crowley lets out a short scoff. “Finally, someone talking some sense here.”

“We can’t go back to the safe house,” Castiel ignores the demon, “but we do have friends. Someone who knows of the life and has also done nothing but try to keep you safe.”

Dean narrows his eyes. “We just found out about it. Our dad didn’t want us to know. So who could he have possibly trusted enough to talk to?”

Sam looks at him, finally tearing his eyes and hand away from the picture, and Dean meets his eyes. Instantly, he knows.

He swallows, understanding clogging his throat. “Bobby.”


End file.
